Days are dull, empty
But no so the nights
As the watchman whistles
And strikes the pole thrice.
This way he flashes
That way he lashes
Sometime he smokes and coughs
Sometime he himself laughs.
The field is walled head high
No thief, no raider nearby
So what does he watch?
A palm tree tall, and
Weaver birds’ nests all.
Why do we ask why?
It’s so simple
He is a watchman
And his duty is to watch.