It is not hot as yet in the early morn, but it soon will be,
The sun will rise over the nearby buildings and heat up everything to see,
The land is scorched and the rivers already run dry,
People manage and go about their lives, nobody asks why.
The trees and plants have shed parts of their lives overnight,
And their remains litter all of the pathways in sight,
Leaves and flowers from bougainvillea and other plants, left and right,
They have not survived to see another day,
A general sense of tidiness, and order, demands that it all be swept away.
Dust rises into the nostrils with every sweeping motion of the broom,
The dust is relentless,
You think it has been swept clear,
You can be sure there will be a new layer soon.
The mynah stops by as I sweep the yard,
What brings it, I do not know.
Now I have company as I sweep up the yard and laugh,
But soon the bird is gone (I am probably not interesting enough),
Back to my thoughts my mind does go.
And this I know as I sweep up the dust,
Soon I will also be gone, but there are others I trust,
The work will still continue regardless, it must!
Things will continue to happen, I say that not in jest,
Life will go on, of that you can be sure, no need to test,
Even if the grass does not grow here anymore,
Life will be certain to go on for sure.