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The Rains
I tell you this rain
Will even grow dead grain
And every filth and disdain
It is bound to drown or drain
It pounds, it pours
Oh Lord, the casualties soar
This time heavens windows and doors
Open almost like in the day of Noah
Just the other day the sun scorched
Day on day and harvests botched
And we prayed as we watched
For we are helpless if not by Providence forged
Oh Lord, temper the deluge
Let your sons and daughters find refuge
Have mercy though thou art the Righteous judge
This prayer be to Thee our pleading nudge
K. Muitherero
Copyright ©
Kennedy Muitherero
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