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How is the dew that came
Before rain and sun's flame
Gone so fast
Is it because its wet
Was only enough for shrubs
And shrubs are easy to forget
Or is that no glory last
Where the sun scrubs
White the sinews of trees?

You who once policed the law
Did also make the law
In City chambers where
Streets alone
Carry the exotic flower
Of your name
When they ask me,
What shall I answer for your shadowed fame
Between the cousins who broke your heart?
What was the legacy to the nation
Now that the Jamaican Workers
Trade Union was only root
For the almighty scion
That became the tree?
Busta gave you no rain
Manley pruned you excessively
And there was no seed after that
Except the truth
That the new Jamaica was your vision first.

I saw you once
Singing Sankey before the village shop
Canvassing the primitives
I saw a stone hit your lantern
And many more stones drop
Like bombs around us exploding your dream
The night was silent after that
Father Coombs
Had neither face nor trace again
How can a great man fall like that
The political ladder is a slippery slope
And those who climb
Must more than hope
To lead dissidents of the slime pit
Along with virtue must have grit
Buttered on the bread of wit.

And soon its May again
But now the time of workers memory is past
Until the rains fall again
Against the drought shall the dew hold fast
Will Father Coombs in white again
Raise his hands and turn and smile
To hear the fickle people call
The fickle father's name?
And shall I not tell them
Cobwebs are also significant
In the mystery of the world?

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