it rained.

The heavy cloud of dust swept across the street,

firm on the ground we held our feet.

The land was dry,

the gods had rejected our cry.

Desperate were the urchins,

on street walls they held their chins.

No one to drop a coin of fortune,

no moment to them was opportune.

The little ones shead tears,

But at parentage were their peers;

nothing to feed on,

nothing to sleep on,

So in unison they cry-

desperately till their tears run dry.

Then,

a dark cloud appeared in the horizon.

The blazing mid-day sun retired to the clouds,

dry leaves and litter scattered in the stormy winds.

The urchins ran for shelter,

nothing descent than the street gutter.

Heavy drops!

Expectant hopes!

Thick rivers on the street,

it rained.

Bunguswa Writes.