Johnny, the baker
Went home to the mill
Home to barter
At his windowsill

Upon his return
Fierce lightning struck
The mill, it burnt
Johnny, out of luck

All God's flour
Absorbed in smoke
All Johnny's power
He coughed and choked

Bursting violence
Who was to blame?
Moments of silence
A withering flame

Johnny Baker burned
So did his bread
To God he returned
Baker's dough was dead

Johnny met his maker
His widow met the will
The overrated undertaker
Collected his bill

Milling around
During next spring
The widow she found
A precious thing

Midst the old ruins
Buried in ash
Diamonds, gold, rubies
And a stack of cash

Lacking any raises
Except in their dough
Poverty in their faces
Only single seeds to sow

But now silver flowers
Sprung from each pot
Drops from golden showers
Turned cold into hot.

Seed, beads, and karats
In the windowsill
New growing merits
In the Baker's mill

The moral of the story
Lightning can kill
But not wipe out glory
Of God's merciful will.