"Hope it rains some more"
So we wished, as little boats from paper we made,
Saw them glide through winding streams,
Just enough rain for the wells it seemed,
To make them fill to their brims,
And yearning and hoping to have fun
On the day of the Feast of St. John.
The first showers soothed the earth
So parched from the summer drought,
Roaring thunder, brilliant lightning;
The skies darkened and the gentle wind
Blew across the land a whiff,
An earthy smell that till today
I cannot unravel, describe or tell.
Then, for many days it did not rain at all,
God's way to "scare" us all,
That's what my granny thought.
So the folks in the village were much concerned too
Grandma had them summoned without much ado
"We have to pray" she said,
"There is nothing else we can do".
On a beaten path
Making a bee-line
Through the fields she led the folks
Carrying a little statue of St. Anthony
Treading their way to the Holy Cross
To sing to her favourite saint a Litany.
That same night
Incessantly the rains fell
Had all the wells so swell
Grandma said it was a miracle
Her prayers were answered
God had at last cast His spell!
Excerpt from my book GOA - Memories of My Homeland
(Poems & Short Stories)
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