Dreaming of Africa

The pavements of the city streets are sleek with damp, the wind is chill,
The skies are grey; for good or ill, my thoughts aren’t here. My breath distils
Upon cold air, my mind elsewhere, where skies are blue
And plants and clothes have riotous hue, where skins are black
And there’s no lack of heat and dust, and water must
Be fetched each day, and children play
In dirt and squalour, and traders holler their wares,
And old men’s stares and housewives’ prayers
Are part of life, with all the strife and noise and cares,
The bad and good, and nothing working as it should…..
But there am I, in my mind’s eye, under that sky –
In Africa.