Pula Poem by Rebecca Bekker

The saddest moment,
Feeling the last of your caress
The months of longing,
Weeks of worries

At the start of the season,
We worry, we have not seen your carriers
We have not yet smelt your fragrance

It has been weeks since your season has started,
Yet your foot prints do not mark the red earth,
The elders are mumbling that you have forgotten us,
The young ones say, do not worry, she will come

Every evening Chief sits and stares at your path,
And can not see you,
The young men are sent out to look for your signs
The wise men are at a loss

I feel the rumbling, see the shadow on the ground,
I smell you fragrance, overwhelming
I look up, yet can not speak,
I feel the first of your touches, your caress

Everywhere the people rejoice:
You have come,
The Rain is falling.