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.