From The Branch Of Joy
Here on the crest of the African tip
Is where I, contently sit.
Sitting upon the branch of joy
As I remember the place, this place
That I have missed.
The summer breeze, bringing the summer rain
Sharing with us, some of it’s pain.
Pain?
What is pain?
To the springboks it’s a game!
But the wind whispers what it has to say
And the sun observes as it does all day.
Like a huge burden as it hovers overhead.
Not to the springboks, who play
Frolic in the rain
To them, there is no pain.
A blanket of flamingos suddenly flaps
A wave of pink which does elapse.
Tranquil?
Peace?
Is this True?
And to the springboks?
Whose eyes, so deep, might swallow you…
There was a time when it wasn’t like this
The springboks suffered – a silent kiss –
There was a time when death was in the air
But luckily, the heavens answered our prayers….
Matt Pfeifer
