The gentle night breeze
Sweeps over the small sandy village
While the strums of a guitar
Resound somewhere as
Young voices in discordant notes
Chant a local folk song.

Flickers from kerosene lamps
Sip lazily through
Curtained windows and doors
Softly kissing the glistening branches
Of the palm leaves
Growing tall and strong.

On the shore the sea
Sings herself a song
As she slams against the moss covered rocks.
A pantless little boy runs to the water’s edge
As the white-laced waves
Rush in and disappear in the dark.

The village grows quiet as
The guitar’s throbbing beat
And the voices finally cease.
The silence takes over
Until tomorrow
When they will all be back.