Over the valley, casting their shadow, The clouds above begin to fall. Small pieces of the ether in raindrop form, The rains which I do call. They wet the earth in harsh cold, Granting life to the seeds, Which lie not far beneath the dirt. The rain brings this, these deeds. Yet never shall they stay, Because they roam with the wind. Some have cloud envy, or so they say, And sloth is their sin.