The Baobab Tree
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