I dreamed of rain and the rains came, soft and easy, sweet and clear.
I dreamed of rain and the rains came and peace spread over the land.

I dreamed of summer and the winds changed and the green was easy and the rivers ran clear. 
I dreamed of summer and the winds changed and peace spread over the land.

And the flowers bloom in the desert and the air is fresh and clear. 
I dreamed of rain and the rains came and peace spread over the land.

I dreamed of freedom and the moon rose and the way was easy and the path was clear. 
I dreamed of freedom and the moon rose and peace spread over the land. 

And the guardian stars are shining and the night is bright and clear. 
I dreamed of freedom and the moon rose and peace spread over the land.

I dreamed of heaven and the earth sang and the sound was easy, the song was clear. 
I dreamed of heaven and the earth sang and peace spread over the land.

And the ancient pain is forgotten and the father's debts are clear. 
I dreamed of heaven and the earth sang and peace spread over the land.

I dreamed of rain and the rains came and peace spread over the land. 
I dreamed of rain and the rains came.

January 2003: Ugly rumors were starting to circulate that there were weapons of mass destruction in Iraq, and the United States should wage a pre-emptive war on that desert nation and its people. I remember driving through Nevada and seeing a newspaper with photos of American soldiers killed in Afghanistan. They were just little boys.

…Early one morning I heard the sound of rain on the roof. A simple melody started coming into my awareness with these words: “I dreamed of rain, and the rains came, soft and easy, sweet and clear.” It was a very comforting thought, and I could feel that familiar fresh scent of rain weaving in and out of the music. I listened for the next line . . . and then the left side of my brain bullied its way in.

“Hey, you know, the next line is gonna have to rhyme with 'clear.'  So.....um......how about 'and washed away my fear?'....”

Before I could even begin to comment, I heard a great rush of wings and all the song angels whooshed into the room. “NO!” they all yelled, “Don't even go there, don't even bring the fear thing in.”

“OK,” I said, slightly miffed. ”But it has to rhyme.”

“No it doesn't.” (Angels are very sure of themselves, especially the musical ones.) “There are plenty of fabulous songs that don't have rhyming lines. Poetry doesn't have to rhyme. Just feel deeply into the rain. Feel the impending war. What is it your heart really wants to say?”

I remember blurting out “I just want peace to spread over the land!”

“Great,” they said. “Say that”

– Jan Garrett (2014)