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.