In this land,
rain does fall occasionally,
sometimes every afternoon,
Pitter-patter on the dry concrete floor,
and the parched grass crisp brown,
Sweeping through the mighty granite mountains yonder,
Grey blue and melancholic.
Love does bloom here,
Occasionally, sometimes now and then,
A kiss fluttering across the square,
Of colonial houses,
Green and innocent hands holding one another,
In the crisp clear wind.
Of the bright light of the afternoon sun.
And passion stirs up those hot tropical nights,
Like the raging of those fresh river waters,
And the cool blow of the sweet smelling breeze.
And it is this land whence
My mother's blood derived,
Where affection here blooms,
Under the breath of the land,
Where at times the land quietens so,
On those warm sunny days,
That one stands in a big green cathedral.