Village boy Impressions

Take a walk in the Savannah, Listen to the song of birds and trees, See the wonders of the land: The harmony of rocks, and grass,  And the awe of ants and anthills. Feast your eyes on  castles of clay Built with patient labour and craft Plastered by seasonal rainstorms, Baked to artistic perfection By daily scorching suns, and Frequent blazing bushfires.   Inspiring folk are the Savannah ants Going up and down all day In silent, profound labour Tunnelling, firming, raising walls Until the fort stands majestic. Even when we cut it down, As we are wont to do  They build it right back up Without a sound of protest or grumble   Go to the ant, you sluggard! Learn the dignity of labour, See the marvels wrought by Little hands and little heads. Stand in awe of Savannah anthills. Listen to the sermonizing of ants; "Turn your hands from idleness and bloodshed, Your heads from evil machinations and mischief, And your mouths from idle chatter a

The baobab tree stands bare in the dry season On an hallowed spot at home, Stands a tall, mighty baobab.  Steeped in myth and legend  A massive and hefty girth  Thick, wide and stout arms.  Bare in the rainless moons  And green cloaked with the showers.  From every house, it calls;  Girls and boys, men and women The old and the young,  The nimble and the slow,  Birds, bees, beasts, and bats.  To all and sundry it welcomes  With food, sweetness, and shelter.  In its arms; shrouded or naked,  Or under its shaded bare ground,  We play, we laugh, we rest, we court. Read:  Village Boy Impressions - The Seasons at Home In the rainy season, the baobab tree is usually cloaked green  For the fresh nourishing leaves Our mothers fight the caterpillars. And for the lip-smacking nectar, We wrestle with the bees at dawn. Fearing neither their ominous hum, Nor the eventual virulent sting. Devouring the budding flowers, Into tummies that