The grassy Landscape pass in a blur
Like the hurrying wind from the shore-
And as i watch through misty windows
While the bus labour away through the meadows-
I hear that cry again-
I hear it like the rain:
The PIM PIM of the bus
As it negotiates the curve's cross.
The wind hisses in through window ajar,
The cold blown in from fields afar
And yet as I shiver from the cold
I grin like one happy soul-
I am the traveller, a thrilled one
Through the mountain's pass and land-
The bus groaning away with me
Bound for Yaoundé, the University.