O Afrika Poem by MAGNUS KING

The quiet storms
The ancient drums
The heated warmth
Of your arms
Has made me a knighted warrior

Your pretty face
Your beautiful place
Your gallant grace
Have kept the scribbles by pace
To know the eagles from the vultures

O my Great Father
I know she's my mother
Holding the trigger
Channeling the course of the rivers
Of Africa to erase and amaze the stones and the petered

I am Africa; I am the savannah, the rain, and freshet of dew
I am the dessert, the forest, the harpist, and sweetest of tunes
I am the spur, the valley, the jungle, and the finest of jewels
I am the dusk, the evening, the midnight, and brightest of moons
I am the eagle flown into the sun to behold your key in the days of Tilgath-Pileser

O Africa! ! !