More tropical fruit for you. This time a little soft moment about Hagley Gap, my current Jamaican refuge. 

Winding seal, unfeasible hill;

Dirt and rock, for my luck I knock.

Roofs corrugated, walls brightly decorated;

Unfinished stories, hopes of wealth and glory.

Honest buildings gaily painted, it’s patrons long time acquainted;

Minor doorway barely there, within shelves stocked with wares.

Mans face oil creased, leans on wall firewater greased;

Hub of the world hardly on a map, hub of the world nestled in the Gap.

Banana plant leaves, coffee trees;

Long grass blades, a towering bamboo maze.

Palms of the jungle, knotted juniper muddle;

Pregnant mangoes, weeping willows.

Call of one thousand birds, one symphony barely heard;

Chirps, squeaks and calls, heightened as the sun falls.

Grinding motor labours, bouncing bass for neighbours;

Dog sounds its bark, donkey brays a lonesome remark.