The street fires begin 
Crackling and swaying,
While the drums
Drubbing out the nip of dawn,
Sound matins of transition.
The season's sweven of swell time
Bodies forth
In plums of profusion
Sugar-caning
The measure of mirth.
The howling blower 
In tune
With the tempered ambience, 
Dips his lungs
Into a balmy breath-
And the sun
In a helio-hop
Strides into his warm orientation; 
While pagans and cows 
In rapport of ritual
Heave hearths of joy
In
Frothing pots of sweetness.