After three months of long rains
The land is a sodden bed
Of dried pond. The tarred roads shine
Fine threads of steam to the air.
The playgrounds jump and chatter
With the presence of children
In games abandoned yesterday
When the sky was falling tears.
The streets bustle with vendors,
Calling their wears by sweet names;
And the radio shops yell out
The rival sounds of Highlife.
Happy Week End Palz
