Wishing For Clouds

Even the moon was cold wrapped in clouds, like an old shawl, dark, no twinkling stars shown, only the breath as they walked, single file, to where they did not know. Past farms lit by only what little of the moon dared peek out, past fields unplowed, blowing in the harsh wind, falling apart as they go. To the sea, to the sea, the waves crashing, the storm brewing, to the ship, to another land, tocking and tumbling through the sea, the moon shining on the deck, where men dare not follow. Single file they walk, past houses of those gone long ago, to the farms, to the men, to the heat, unbearable heat, the sun bore no clouds, no relief as they bent, hand picked and rough, this land they did not own, but had to plough. Even the moon was hot, sweating at night so the air was thick with almost rain, but not. Sleeping outside under the stars reminded them of home, but not. They toiled, they waited, they planned, but none saw the end of the pain, they laid on their backs, exhausted every night and wished for clouds.