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.