Change

I rose to the sing-song of a hornbill Engaging my morning wrath in a tease I graced a sleepy track with hazy youthful turns and endless dreamy twists that end on misty ground Curled artfully around a shedding rinkhals, on a wooded journey to the stream Said hello to Daddy Doe, to buy a future village favour Smiled at her whose eyes never lift her face to see the ripening breeze beyond my stare, and yet I know she knows Laid back on the banks of the gleaming breaks in a crucifiction pose Watched the sun-dance that grandma deplores… lest it merrily breeds a Christmas dawn and dues are due for earth devoted to her Then the biting chill felled the warm delights of my days and sent me lengthened darkness wrapped in a Highveld dew Lifted the smoky plumes in frustrating patterns beyond my view But soon the cold whisper gave way to a wary hint of spring, extolling the virtues of a soggy refrain That brackets each end of the rain-soaked call… My dew now falls on concrete and she whose eyes never lift her face dies a slow death Grandma met the blinding light when the Christmas sun-dance eclipsed The hornbills and rinkhals meekly line the walls of disengaged opulence, and I cannot collect on my village favour… I rise with the same smile Sink newfound depression into a gold-tremored hop As the devoted earth moves with my feet Endure the sing-song of fading hornbills that ask humbly… This is your dance, child but where lies your land?