The Moon weeps for Zimbabwe,
Proud Lady of Africa, friendless, folorn
In the winter of her desolation.
Delighting in her nut brown form
When we were young, I was her lover,
Fed and clothed with her oblation,
We flourished, blessed by one another.
The Moon cries for my chosen country,
Great Lady of Africa, focus and womb
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem