Atlast the output arrived

It's the season,

Of wheat harvesting,

The crop has been cut,

The bundles are tied,

But lying,

In the open.

Preying every hour,

To the local deity,

Hold up the clouds,

Don't let them rain,

Till wheat reaches home.

Fortunately deity,

Applied all it's might,

Inspite of clouds,

In the sky,

He didn't,

Let them rain.

Now wheat has come,

It has been,

Properly stored,

No worry,

If deity,

Pulls back,

It's check,

And let the,

Rain shower the earth.