Psalm CXXXI: Prayer, like weaning

My eyes used to flash toward you,
Like lightning across a hilltop,
Searching out the highest objects,
Grazing for a point of interest.

But it's been a long dry spell now,
And thunder rolls--tickling--down dry
River beds in distant valleys,
Off the lip of my horizon.

But I am content, and lift peaceful
Meadows up to the golden sun.