Harmattan Love

When the sky is clear,
And the rain no longer falls,
Call it harmattan.

Lips will dry and break
And harvests start in earnest,
When leaves start to fall.

It seems snow will fall;
The street man will sell more tea,
And ice will not sell.

With a broken heart,
And lips that dry, lie and break,
We’ll wait for the rain.

Younglan Louis