There is paddy lady rolling tongue on song
About rain to bring rice on the sun’s death.
In a slush the sun falls to temporary death.
Just before dusk he shall be whisked away
To the posterior of an attic behind the hills.
All grandma’s pickles are left to dry by sun.
But a sun is dead in attic beside a grandma.
Her son-in-law is caught in a slush of rice.
He rolls up his lower garment as the snake
Loosens mouth around the half-eaten frog.