Little boys who ran barefoot on the uncut grass
and climbed the neighbor's mango tree
would relish the long saunter of the constant sun.
But then they grew into stiff-necked farmers
who hastened before the daylight could even dare to greet them.
They learned to bow their heads
as the stream of light from the blazing sun found its way to them.
The smiles on their dark faces waning like last night's moon.
And soon, like their fathers before them,
they began to bend like lodged sugarcane.
No longer partaking in the harvest season,
they are taken to the side
where the mango trees welcome them once more.
And there, they close their eyes
as the sun takes their hand
to the land beyond the sunset.