As parched earth thirsts for long-belated rain
Beneath a cloudless sky and searing heat,
Where grassland now has turned to desert plain
And even scorpions long since did retreat—
As cancer’s victim yearns with anxious hope
For medicine of men to find a cure,
With forecasts grim and cures beyond man’s scope,
And nothing, though he fight, might he procure—
As moon desires sun’s resplendent rays
That she might bask in glory’s golden glow
And sing without restraint the sun’s due praise
While her black rock illumines white as snow—
So, too, sweet Jesus, do I long for you.
Your presence fills dead souls and makes them new.

© 2011 Eric Evans

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