Cold rain on the window pane,
wind rushing through the tree.
Dark sky, boiling clouds,
storms damp fingers caressing me.

A Memory stirs, Africa's grass,
a rushing curtain of rain.
Smell the air, hot damp earth,
storm's scent etched in my brain.

Hear the rain drops, loud but light,
wet hands, damp air, back bent,
They danced a merry jig that night,
while I shared a smoke with my friend.

Or shivering under the overpass,
huddled on a concrete slab.
Waiting for the rain to pass,
bearing the chill wind's icy stab.

My thoughts return to the here and now,
rain trickles down the glass.
I miss the days when once I would
run free in savanna grass.

Those days are gone, long ago,
just a distant memory.
Now there are but deadlines,
with no time left spare for me.