Early Morning Lark
A song-bird I came
With the morning mist
Like a south-heading crane
Into the gathering forest;
Beside this orange I perched singing
And smelt pure gold
On the surface merely hanging
Across the land.
I bore the straw from Natal
Thru’ my mouth for the nest
In Transkei in Transvaal
Thinking of the cherished rest.
But from our Soweto
An explosion came
Ringing like music in crescendo
Seeking in our forest some fame.
An early explosion still rings
Above my sweet tongue
Striping our forest of my songs
And mixing all into a dirge.
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