HOMELAND SCENES

 

January is here again, the sky is clear, and heavens deep blue in hew. The aging soft grass is dry, brown. The tide is low, waves disorganized and the foam fizzling noisily at the shore. Winds are slow, currents furious and emotional is the breeze sighing all day through the bamboo groove. Palm trees leaves have turned yellow from severe sun, and in vain premature flowers of weeds fall on the secluded foot path. Thick is the odor of the deep blue ocean; and idle the dust which soars in to the light wooly clouds up high. The off shore wafts are serene and blow in with rare fragrances against my face, but sadly instead to enjoy the coolness, I can’t seem to cease weeping.

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