KEVIN MWOLE

Come

Come
me and you
we will travel childhood paths
seldom now trodden
we will sing songs of our innocence
as we sip from the gourd of ancestral wisdom
distilled and archived on grey heads
three legged stools
by a flickering evening fire
come my beloved
walk this trail with me
imbibe the air of these virgin hills
mushroom scent at birth
on a steaming mound of elephant spoor
my darling
halt there
no sound; maintain that stillness
perhaps we will hear the music of Acacia
rousing the forlorn plains at dawn.

Poem Submitted: Monday, June 18, 2012

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