Filled with a sense of expectation I wrote the following poem the day before the November convention. 

The winds of change rustle the bushveld.

Pregnant clouds herald a storm.

Parched earth thirsts for fresh life.

African sun prepares for new dawn

Acacia woos the weary

To rest in her spring clothed shade

The dove sings in soft tones

that peace may pervade.

Fisheagle calls to the earthbound

That freedom may soar again

The drought is almost over

And the air holds promise of rain

As we move toward the launch of the new party I wrote this last week.

We are a congress

We are a team

We share a vision

We share a dream


We are a people

Who love our land

We embrace justice

We’ll take a stand


We are dynamic

We’re fresh and new

And all that matters

Is what is true


We’re making history

We’re a blank page

The pen is poised

No gun of rage


We are the change

That we want to see

We’ll birth the ideal

To reality




Check Also

For everything there is a season week ending 1/11/21

This week I made a rather sad decision to take a break from pottery classes, …

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *