Stormy Weather


Where leaves
don’t fall
Where grass
only grows
Where waves
wash the feet
of lovers
There are storms
there are floods
there are songs
still to be sung
and there,
with every gust of wind
midst lightning flashes
in the air leaves
the scent of sleep
rubbing tender feet
in those lands
had they hands
would reach
to each generous breast
leaving love
to do the rest.

Dr T.P. Wilkinson writes, teaches History and English, directs theatre and coaches cricket between the cradles of Heine and Saramago. He is author of Unbecoming American: A War Memoir and also Church Clothes, Land, Mission and the End of Apartheid in South Africa. Read other articles by T.P..