My Africa, you call to me
In the grunting of the lion
And the cry of the fish eagle
You paint your skies in red and orange and dust
And you allow me to walk in your spoor, today.
I hear your heart beat in the thunder of herds
And I recognise your voice in the splashing of the rain
And you die each year to be born again in the flight of the butterflies and the bats...
Is it a wonder that you have captured my heart
So that I mourn you when we are apart?
Sometimes I fear you.
Mama Afrika, I will always respect your vastness
and tenderness, to me, of man,
Visiting your wild and sacred spaces.
Great blogg post
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