the rain crow feels the secret wind
that gathers in a distant land
beyond its southern woodland home
as gods and demons make a stand
from Africa across the sea
there stirs a mystic tropic breeze
with force of searing desert heat
and steam beneath the cotton trees
the rain crow knows the time has come
for soon the hail and lightening fall
its mournful cry throughout the wood
is warning of the coming squall
now in the east the storm will rise
to churn the waters near the shore
and I must thank the rain crow's call
as I take heed and bolt the door
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem