The sky is gray,
thick clouds block the sun's rays,
raindrops fall and splash down,
mingling with the tears of the farmer,
his heart is full of graditude,
to the One who brought the rain
for his thirsty crop.

The flames are bright against
the black, starless sky.
Water gushes forth from the hose
in the fireman's gloved hands.
His eyes burn from the smoke,
his face is blackened from soot.
And he cries when the baby is
rescued.

The soldier stands straight
and stiff,
ready to salute the flag
he's been serving under for the past
three years.
But his heart isn't in the battle,
his hand touches his pocket,
gun falling down
as he feels the picture of his wife
waiting faithfully for him at home.
He cries when he thinks he might
leave her behind,
stricken with grief.
He hopes to make her proud,
if this war takes his life.

The farmer gathers his
son and daughter near,
leaving a smidgen of soot
on his daughter's tear-streaked face
from his son's.
The three stand there and cry, lifting
their faces to the bright sun,
asking the One who created them,
to save a life.