The Exile By C. Emily Dibb I miss the earth of Africa, The hot dry stones, the sand, The friendly feel of sun warmed rock, Beneath my outspread hand. I miss the smell of Africa, The fragrance of the grass, At dewfall in the evening. In the glades where leopards pass. The Exile By C. Emily Dibb I miss the earth of Africa, The hot dry stones, the sand, The friendly feel of sun warmed rock, Beneath my outspread hand. I miss the smell of Africa, The fragrance of the grass, At dewfall in the evening. In the glades where leopards pass. I miss the light of Africa, The glare that hurts the eyes, The shock of blinding brilliance, In noonday’s cloud-massed skies. I miss the sounds of Africa, The barking of baboon, And the thunder of the lion’s roar, That greets the rising moon. I miss the wind of Africa, That blows before the rain, The warm, wet wind of heaven, I must breathe it once again. Oh I long to sleep in Africa, Through a velvet summer night, And there to dream of days gone by, Until my soul takes flight. Then should I wake in Africa, I’ll hear the bulbul’s song, And know that I am home at last, Back home where I belong.
Posted on: Fri, 25 Oct 2013 14:55:55 +0000
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