We have smiled
We have loved
We have done all needed to be done
And the last fruits of harvest were sown

The harmattan is yet to come after all
But the brown clay has repainted the walls
Hot is the heat of the sun on the laborers back
But to his grain stores he must never lack
The farmlands grow strong when the rains go
With more might even the feeblest of fruits are sown

These are the times of the year when greens turn brown
And when the hawks seek the little stray chicks

These are the times of the year when the fields are dry
And mothers make pepper soups that burn the face

These are the times of the year when the trees are better companions
And the rivers a resort made to counter the hot days