O nnyame o sa tsammae
Morwarra wa bophelo,
the breath that once did clasp
Life's glowing warmth hath fled;
the frame that used to run with heat
now lies unmoving, cold, and still.
This mortal dust of him who hath forsaken us—
The late departed, newly reft of vitality—
hath vanished from the earth,
no longer bearing the quickening spark.
He hath no breath, yet he inspires no fear;
He hath a shape, yet he cannot tire.
He walked the earth, but now he stays
A silent house of cold, pale clay
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