Heat 

As a poet oft I sit and sweat 

With face ablaze as countenance 

And thru durating wheedled suns 

Endure the stiffening arc aplomb 

A land of sand and whirring fans 

Of hurricaned and paddied lands 

And scents of burning wood, steamy bush, 

Untold flowers and unnameable fruits 

Which grow around trees of mystery 

Amid ramshackle huts embraced by sea.