It has been raining for an hour
Confining parents and elders indoor
Not the motley group of village boys
They’re out in the playfield; let it pour
Some small, some of them grown
Some short, some skinny and tall
They have made themselves two teams
To enjoy a game of rainy football
The game has begun in earnest
Between two clubs without colors
With yells “pass it on” “kick it” “goal!”
In soccer, they’re all brothers
Falls after falls, more falls than goals
Fill the playfield with mirth
If there was a piece of heaven somewhere
Here it is, here it is, in soaked earth
They’re sorry the sun is sunk behind
Wrapping all the light in his shawl
Ghostly figures bathed in mud are
Returning to the village, happy all.
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