My First Travel

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.