FROWN
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Red, sandy soil,
The shining sun beams down.
Never to be wrapped in Ugandan foil,
I am told with a frown.
Drops of dehydrated dryness,
A swirling, sandy swirl.
People filled with upmost highness,
The mangoes that they hurl.
The trees they loom over,
The colourful moist air.
In the sky the supernova,
Hovers above the lair.
Close to the equator,
My fingers can touch it.
Hearts are inflaters,
The moon it is so lit.
The moonsoon and I arrived together,
Along with the chattering markets,
The rain seemed to last forever,
My boat where should I park it?
Red, sandy, solid soil.
The shining sun beams down.
At last I have to leave,
I am told with a
FROWN...
I am not meaning to be mean to any Ugandan's as I myself really like the country and would love to go there.
YOU ARE READING
GOOD INTENTIONS
AdventureThe epic tale of the mystery of the crown jewels.. who has taken it, you and I wonder amongst reading this short tale. But is it always who first appears to mind...?
