Voiceless Prayers Poem by Glen Kappy

I check the forecast for the chance of rain
and see again the percentages are small.

And my voiceless prayer goes up
and figurative hands are lifted in appeal.

And are the limbs of elms doing much the same?
—The drought severe, this year they have no seeds.

The Hens and Chicks in the shelter of the pine—
their voices lost as they shrink and turn to powder?

And the ground itself, bare as it seems—
does it moan in a raspy whisper unaided by the wind?

Surely I think an eclectic chorus cries—
O grace us soon so not one of our voices dies.