Earth, water, wind and fire;
life can seem harsh on the land;
one with worn features wears calloused hands
and a body as wound as a wire.
Standing as still as a weather cock;
not a whisper of wind to propel;
locals talk grimly about being in hell,
crops fail as rains don’t knock.
It’s all a struggle, this won’t be denied,
but there’s always room for a friend;
time for tall tales, to melt hearts and mend;
put on a lively show, true age is belied.
Words by Stephanie Mohan – October 2015
photo – thanks to Jacki F 2015