Poetry

In the distant veldt I saw Him
where He holds His hand over the wild flowers
and there was a colossal hillock
on a summer day with the sky another kind of blue
 
when I tried to find holy moments,
when I walked back in the footprints of a child
and free from the blackberry-bush
under the weather and wind
 
I devoured some of nature’s treasures
and I was blind for my Lord
while I only saw the works of His hands,
when I went back to some of my childhood places.