Dearly B. Loved
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Wednesday, November 4, 2009

The African Child

Iwas born, grew and flourished in a tawny golden bowl Of Africa, among ramparts of tumbled granite rocks,
Where antelope passed in painted frieze
Under a pale, bleached sky, eagles floating;
A sky that turned torrid and flaming at day's end,
Then filled with pinpricks of glacial light
The Southern Cross spread constant across the sky,
As the world turned childhood slow in the indigo night.
I tumbled breathless, tear-streaked and dusty
From rough-coat, bony bongolo/donkeys,
Feet stuck with paper thorns, devil thorns,
Arms scratched and bare - never thought to wear shoes.
Africa tripped me over, thumped me, loved me,
Washed me in warm brown flowing rivers,
Sandbars rising, sinking, slow windmill
Turning, clanking , tangling my heart,
Caught for all time in the wait-a-bit thorns.
I will never be free, though the grey loerie
Calls 'Go 'way, go 'way', and I did.

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