Autumn s come and the leaves are lookin brown and dry. Sun swings low, a fruit resists the thirsty ground. Uselessly, I try to coax a cloud or two. Searchin the skies, knowin there ain t nothing left to do. Summer s turned to gold, my garden s tired and old, the dust swirls round my bowl - and still, no sign of rain. Faithfully, I ve tended to my patch of land. Year by year, I ve scratched to keep my humble clan. Now and then some thunderheads come out of the blue. Trouble is, they ve always been too far and few. Summer s turned to fall, the air is thick and cold, I feel it in my bones - but still, no sign of rain. Silence shades my lonely claim - though all is gold, there is no rain. Still, I hear my singin bones And I believe rain will fall.