Have the un-seasonal rains
a break taken at last?
The air’s pure, clear, clean;
the sky’s seen, a crystal blue
a few clouds scattered palely over it,
white fleece, to the east bathed in a brilliant glint
as the sun storms into the firmament;
yet there’s that in the air,
a feel of the rain afar off-
not threatening, promising;
maybe in the noon, or the afternoon,
that rain will, may come.
the hills and vales heavily green shrouded,
the rivers bulging in their courses,
the soil taken a wash, but quick drying,
the lake a swollen tummy,
not satiated, as yet, though pretty near to-
like to a child locked in a sweet store,
or an adult never nay saying
as the rain god mercilessly pelts
and lakes the countryside invade.
as alive today as ever will be-
bustling people pouring onto dusty streets,
the never sleeping giant from a doze shaken,
I love you, sweet home.
© GayUganda 19 Sept 07