Christ in the gathering rain,
Pour out the winter's blessing
And fill the thirsty streams of my heart
With running rivers of grace.
The grey and browning fields
Have hardened over dry summer months,
And now they wait, silent tonight,
Aching for tears that may yet fall.
Like the cisterns emptied in Cana,
And the wedding guests lost in habit,
Our expectations are conditioned
By cynical pundits and loud, barking salesmen.
Fog rolls ashore tonight, unseen here,
But thick with moist benediction.
And you spin showers from dark clouds,
For tomorrow is eucharist, and all is wine.