No green. No growth. No life. Intense heat grilled the land. And soil turned to dust, no hope. This microwaved earth called out for help, for rain. Yet like the creeping beetle on the sand, time crept slowly. A drop. Another drop, then many drops. God poured hope upon this desert death. And the rhythm of the rain brought a joyous sound! A bloom of one, then two, then many people grew into a mighty orchestra of life. Like a symphony of sound,...
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Poetry