The Bushman Poem by Gert Strydom

While normal hunters are gunning
causing deer to shiver,
with his naked skin sweating while he is running
with his reliable bow and quiver
the Bushman tracker follows a spoor from early light
as a master of his art on the extended plain
and even into the dark night
sometimes right through rain
in slow progress with lengthening strides
he avoids sight, smell and sense
runs past where the horizon divides
land and sky and hunts in sheer competence:
and with time he will run the whole world down,
make any animal, man, even kings his own.