August rain in Madeira

         
The concrete seemed so short        
The turn so steep.......        
We and the plane were down.        
A fortnight lay before        
The sky porcelain and blue        
Mountains pencil sharp and dark        
With ribbon streams        
And dangerous challenge,        
No clouds, they were to come.        
         
A fortnight’s Eden lay before,        
Before . .. . we knew not what.        
The bed was flat,used it well        
The whole night through,        
Woke once to taste the air        
A holiday from home,        
Locked and safe and waiting.        
         
Innocence is no crime        
no need for hope, we did not know        
and skies were blue.        
Clouds left behind,        
Thousands walked us by, without a word.        
wine,Madeira, a meal        
A simple meal,not too much        
No sweet.        
         
Turn north the streets are steep        
Forty-five, you trod them well        
I did not know, nor you        
We bought some fruit        
I ate it all, sucked it on the quay,        
Waiting for the bus . . . .        
As the ships went by.        
         
In years the rain        
Had never come in August,        
Surprised them all        
So strange, shiny streets,        
Jewelled leaves and gurgling gutters        
It came by night,ashamed,        
Gone by eight,        
Misty, not bold as home        
Needed practice, not like ours,        
Which turns out every day!        
         
They learned the art of weather-talk,        
Cafe conversations just like home.        
We shrugged away the rain        
Went a gentle walk        
To watch the plants and lizards        
Why it had rained we did not know        
No . . . .we did not know        
 .. . . .So much we did not know ,