POSTCARD FROM JAMAICA

Where mangroves sip pellucid water

through their arching straws.

where prehistoric alligators

bask with open jaws.

where sentinel bullrushes once

sheltered fleeing slaves

who now lie peacefully -

in unmarked graves

.

Where teacup moons spill silver

liquid on an inky sea.

where warm night winds bear

sounds of ‘bamboo rain’ to me,

where pelicans fly low to fish

and plovers search the sand

I find contentment, peace and

laughter in this blessed land.

N.B In high wind bamboo sounds exactly like rain.