The Baobab Tree Poem by John Agandin

On an hallowed spot at home,
Stands a tall, mighty baobab.
Steeped in myth and legend
A massive and hefty girth
Thick, wide and stout arms.
Bare in the rainless moons
And green cloaked with the showers.
From every house, it calls;
Girls and boys, men and women
The old and the young,
The nimble and the slow,
Birds, bees, beasts, and bats.
To all and sundry it welcomes
With food, sweetness, and shelter.
In its arms; shrouded or naked,
Or under its shaded bare ground,
We play, we laugh, we rest, we court.

For the fresh nourishing leaves
Our mothers fight the caterpillars.
And for the lip-smacking nectar,
We wrestle the bees at dawn.
Fearing neither their ominous hum,
Nor the eventual virulent sting.
Devouring the budding flowers,
Into tummies that squirm in protest,
And for fruit, fresh or dry at last,
We climb and climb and climb
Passing from limb to limb
Until the entire land lies at our feet!
Looking down, our legs quake in fright
Our young hearts pound furious
And our feet are jelly.

Hail the mighty baobab!
Hail the mothering love
Peerless in height and size
Great in aid and shade.
Defiant in the parched land
Neither the drought nor the flood fears.
But the mighty Harmattan mocks
And the fierce blazing sun scoffs.
Blooming or shedding the greenery
At her own sweet will and time
And her fruit are constant in season.
Anger or malice she knows not
Neither a grumble nor a wail she utters
But within her big beating heart keeps
All the pain and scars of a harassed land.
If we but learn her ways,
We should be twice blest over
In this harsh and remorseless world!