In his short pants
And a long stick
Running here and there
Trying hard enough to be
in control.
With his open flap shirt
Flying through the bush
Being a real bushman
Placing his flocks together
Not to breach a lasting bond.
Flying his striking armory
His truly life companion
that keep him in position
of real pride and power
among his peers
His menacing stick,
His flocks of goats
His herds of cows
Comprehend his hissing message
The way you understand when your
Body needs nourishment.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem