CALL HER RAIN.
And when the prairie summer
that is your soul
shall go dry in a long dry afternoon,
call Rain.
Call, and she will come
like a wren song across an evening field
and sit with you awhile.
She'll skip back then to friends and swings
and you'll turn from the window
and there, heart there,
delight of a meadow after fresh rain,
delight of a sky, rainbow bitten.

-public domain-