They dig out piles of sand
Iron scraping brownish quarts
-
Rhythmically weeping trees
I kiss their crests, one by one
—‘Next year rain will return’
-
He’s digging pits for sprouts
And sun colouring his tears bright-red
Me whispering him to go home
—‘Come, rain is sleeping far away’
-
Early first-falling leaves
It’s the whizzing he looks after
Oh, blessed life, I look on
—‘And with the rain I’ll be back’
-
Between the cities’ eyes, there
Next to a young oak, he waits
Loddon Lilies proudly pointing
-
I hush their calling with a nod
—‘Sing along when rain comes down’
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