The wind wound tight
Around the dreary day,
But lingered, lone and idle,
Its hazy light a fading spear
Struggling through clumsy clouds.
The soaked skies bristled,
Ready to weep,
Light barely clung,
Its eye peeking behind
A curtain of thick, dark mist.
The sun sank low,
Hope slipped into shadow,
As night crept forward,
Stealing the last of day.
Yet far away, a star smiled,
Only to be swallowed whole
By a beast of rain-heavy clouds.
By Simiyu S. Stanford, author of The Ring of the Moon and The Biography of Robai Nabisino Makokha, is a distinguished educator at St. Patrick’s High School, Iten, and holds an M.A. in Literature… stanfordsiboe@gmail.com
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