August rain in Madeira

 
The concrete seemed so short
The turn so steep.......
We and the plane were down.
A fortnight lay before,
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, we used it well
 Slept the whole night through
Woke once to taste the air
A holiday from home,
Locked and safe and waiting.
Innocence  no crime
There was no need for hope
We did not know
Why hope when skies are blue?
Clouds were left behind,
Thousands walked us by, without a word
We only spoke for wine, a meal
A simple meal, not too much
No sweet.
Turn north the streets were 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 to see shiny streets,
Jewelled  leaves and gurgling gutters
It came by night, ashamed,
gone by eight,
misty low, not bold as home.
It 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 ,