What is walking with spindly, awkward legs alongside the Kalahari? It beckons such beautiful skin. What is it that runs its outrageous shattering end to end the wholesome Okavango River? It has no shackle, is unfettered its reign, driving crudely over landlocked souls, pelting a most eager children. “Lefatshe la Botswana”- Africa, Namibia, Zambia, Zimbabwe, characters of these cower not to the pouring, save for death. What walks naked toward our sun? Sense its hunger beckoning- O! Have not a doubt it shall traverse our swamp, peer into all of us and, free to move about its tall shattering, stoop over us and ask, “Why did you do nothing?” © 2007 mrp/thepoetryman
(The Weaver's Song)