On one of the last mornings in Lui I listened to all the sounds I would miss.
I awake to the sound of the familiar
First come the crows of roosters
mixed in with the fading night sound
of crickets and frogs.
Then comes the answer of the birds
in percussive answer ooh, ooh, woo.
Next are the wild dogs chime in
with howls which rise up as a lonesome cry
to the sky in mourning for lost companionship
and no kind hand.
Last to come are the morning song birds near the light of day.
For light is slow to come in this dark land.
But the night sky doesn't give up it's beauty until the last.
As the stars paint the heavens with the moons light
to show the way and path
through the night toward the day.
Bringing the work of the people to start.