Master Sower,
Whose heart aches for that one lost sheep,
delights in finding the lost coin,
reconciling the prodigal with joyous celebration,
sows the seed in the good earth,
stony, thorny soil, and by the wayside.

But there has been a famine of tears.
Abundance of sun has made the harvest
in America a desert wasteland.

Hide the sun for just a little while
with the cloud surrounding the Presence,
Soften the hard ground with tears of
hearts broken for broken lives and souls,
and the desert will bloom again
like the Garden of Eden.