Ode to Monsoon

O monsoon wind; O heart of land;
thou pour upon us waters both sweet and cold;
that fills our souls with pompous grand!

Many nests and eggs and birds do thou strand,
that causes havoc and other misery untold,
"O monsoon wind; O heart of land,"

Hot rocky beds steams; like thy own hand
doth cook tasty meals! "Lo and behold -
that fills our souls with pompous grand!"

Strange indeed is thine incredible errand,
to ruffle lakes and waters under thine hold,
"O monsoon wind; O heart of land,"

Thy magical rain turn filthy sand and -
crude ruddy mud to glowing gold;
that fills our souls with pompous grand!

Under thy furious rage I meekly stand
and cry thus as multipotent powers verily unfold:
"O monsoon wind; O heart of land,
that fills our souls with pompous grand!"

 

The End

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