Rain Maker
A wise old man walked by a gravel road
Picked a stone and counted them all
Though it lay not far from grass
So cold it was, the windy empty road
And in the grass
Some fools had gathered
With shovels in hand -
The polished metal blade
Clean - unused and greeting
The high peaking Sun
A young fool,
Though with skin already burned and wrinkled
And face of flies ridden
And lips dried
With crooked teeth muttered
"Look at the fool"
“He is not wise like us”
Another sneered approvingly
All then laughed until the sounds of laughter died
And they all then stood under the oven of stars
And did nothing
The wise old man
With another step marched down the end
As air became serene, more still
Until above it poured
The stones became a diamond each
Village prospered then
When the rain passed their land
That wise old man could rest again
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