I paced alone on the road across the field while the sunset was hiding its gold like a miser.
The daylight sank deeper and deeper into the darknest, widowed land, whose harvest has been reaped, lay silent.
Suddenly, a boy's shrill voice rose into the sky. He travesed the dark unseen, leaving the track of his song across the hush of the evening.
His village home lay there at the end of the waste land, beyaond the sugarcane field, hidden among the shadows of the banana and the slender areca palm, the coconut, and the dark green junk fruit trees.
I stooped for a momentin my lonely way under the starlight, and saw spread before me the darkened earth surroundings with her arms countless home funished with cradles and beds, mother's hearts and evening lamps, and young lives glad with a gladness that knows nothing of its value for the world.