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I
When the dust came I sought shelter
Under a canopy of thick grown palms,
I raised my voice,
Half-speaking, half-singing,
Above the rustle of winds,
Far from our fathers' barns.
I have heard your response,
Half-laughing, half-chattering,
Fondling my name;
Flattered, I have hung my songs
A foot too low
That you and Tony and Toddy
May from them weave
Scenes too distant for your birthcry.
But you are gone,
Gone with morning dews on your head,
You have left before the first rays
Have lighted the swallows' ways.
II
We sang through white horns
At the sprouting in the farms,
But the fruit falls unripe,
Our barns thin and rust
Yet their keepers keep no words
That were theirs on earth.
Only, I wait for the rains
And speak to them:
You've left us to ourselves
In our season of drought;
We have come handsfull
And have made our mouth taleful
Between drought and new yams,
But you have left your your hold
And seeds fall unripe
I am alone
And the murmur of my lips,
Carry song and tears homewards
From a plain away from home
And when the rains come, you fathers,
Who will run and laugh under your houses!