Snapshot poem: Village in the valley

Rich mansions and fences, large dogs to protect

and small men as tourists snapshotting the little church

but just from the outside; the door locked

because of thieves steeling its statues

Farmers on their land gardening their crops

for food; looking sheep numb like cows

and hope for a bit of sunshine to color their wool

Along the river the banks of grass; so many want

to live here, more then a village can have

Or shelter, but they do not see the smell

when summer sun burns the water

and the rats out of their holes...

They only see the picture when the level is low,

before the drowning of heavy rainfall in the south

Farms cascading along shore at both sides

Water that floods land pleasures in the right season

But delivery is not always like it should;

running high above the thresholds; sink the kitchen

and washes TV, radio, everyone's lives

And there are no boats for such a small river;

just trunks of fallen trees and isles of grass

pulled from the land, where there was no water

the day before; just a lovely stream

meant for tourists to watch a romance

of a small village embedded in water