Poetry

African coots fly up black in the marsh
and long-tailed widow birds hang
somewhat tempting as if I can catch them
and I am startled as plovers do bombard me
 
but the marsh does tempt me past them
with a own unknown insistence
till where a Cape monitor peeps like a crocodile
and scared I run back, right across the maize field,
 
do drive away a group of baboons in my fright,
rock rabbits do run in all directions,
donkeys do stampede out of my way,
the dogs of the neighbours do howl,
the round gate does spin around
and I do not wake mother, as it is Sabbath.