For Charity (Poetry)
15th July 2012
It’s early in the morning and the grass is wet with dew,
the distant hills lie hazy but the sun is breaking through,
and the village green is lively, hung with bunting and balloons,
bobbing in the low-slung branches, add their festive reds and blues,
as the men erect the marquee and a group of volunteers
deck out the wooden bandstand as they’ve done on other years.
The ladies of the parish are preparing buffet teas
for sale in the refreshment tent beneath the shady trees,
the tables are set out displaying prizes for the draw,
donations from well-wishers — tins and bottles by the score
line the ten-penny Tombola, Bingo, Darts and Hoopla stalls,
and the advertising banner waves a welcome to us all.
In Africa a fiercer sun has scorched the valley dry,
relentless as it blazes from an empty, azure sky;
the bones of trees stand naked — no green leaves to offer shade
as the crops they’ve planted wither and all hope begins to fade,
for there’s no change in the weather and the land is parched and dead,
and the drought goes on for ever and their children wait, unfed.
In keeping with tradition, the vicar gives his annual speech,
praising all the many helpers and giving thanks for each
act of generosity — the time and energy
freely given in the spirit of true Christian Charity —
like a candle in the darkness, Love’s eternal flame prevails
and the warmth of human kindness reaches out and never fails.
Digging deep into their pockets, they support the worthy cause,
feeling grateful they’re not hungry or caught up in civil wars,
and glad that there is something they can do to raise the funds
to sink a well and irrigate those fields burnt by the sun —
with images of Africa ingrained upon their minds,
they spend in the belief that it will benefit mankind...
Moisture spreads its subtle magic and the first shoots starts to show —
pale green spears of living colour where nothing used to grow,
now the well provides fresh water — a luxury that’s new
in a land of harsh realities where heat and dust subdue —
for somewhere, half a world away, the ordinary man
was moved by news from Africa and gave a helping hand.
the distant hills lie hazy but the sun is breaking through,
and the village green is lively, hung with bunting and balloons,
bobbing in the low-slung branches, add their festive reds and blues,
as the men erect the marquee and a group of volunteers
deck out the wooden bandstand as they’ve done on other years.
The ladies of the parish are preparing buffet teas
for sale in the refreshment tent beneath the shady trees,
the tables are set out displaying prizes for the draw,
donations from well-wishers — tins and bottles by the score
line the ten-penny Tombola, Bingo, Darts and Hoopla stalls,
and the advertising banner waves a welcome to us all.
In Africa a fiercer sun has scorched the valley dry,
relentless as it blazes from an empty, azure sky;
the bones of trees stand naked — no green leaves to offer shade
as the crops they’ve planted wither and all hope begins to fade,
for there’s no change in the weather and the land is parched and dead,
and the drought goes on for ever and their children wait, unfed.
In keeping with tradition, the vicar gives his annual speech,
praising all the many helpers and giving thanks for each
act of generosity — the time and energy
freely given in the spirit of true Christian Charity —
like a candle in the darkness, Love’s eternal flame prevails
and the warmth of human kindness reaches out and never fails.
Digging deep into their pockets, they support the worthy cause,
feeling grateful they’re not hungry or caught up in civil wars,
and glad that there is something they can do to raise the funds
to sink a well and irrigate those fields burnt by the sun —
with images of Africa ingrained upon their minds,
they spend in the belief that it will benefit mankind...
Moisture spreads its subtle magic and the first shoots starts to show —
pale green spears of living colour where nothing used to grow,
now the well provides fresh water — a luxury that’s new
in a land of harsh realities where heat and dust subdue —
for somewhere, half a world away, the ordinary man
was moved by news from Africa and gave a helping hand.