Do Not Spoil The Little That Is Left Poem by Gert Strydom

(after Douglas Livingstone)

Leave the plovers to make their nests,
do not burn their piece of veldt to the ground,
the hadedah ibises to peck at the snails
even if those copper sheen birds do screech as if they do curse,
the yellow and the red weavers to build their nests
in any big old tree in the garden,
the doves to flutter down and coo at each other
even if they sing love songs through the night
the Indian minahs even if they act cocky
as if the whole world do to them belong,
the barbets and hoopoe to peck insects
do not the pastoral earth destroy or bother.

Let the razor-wire and the electric fences,
the sharp pointed palisades remain
while vicious guard dogs patrol every house
as if it is a military base or an own jail
where the inhabitants are locked in.
Build with bricks, concrete and steel
your own fortifications,
gather any firearm,
be it revolver, pistol, shotgun or hunting rifle
(if any is still in use after the new legislation)
to defend you when the time do come,
hire armed reaction from the security companies
with panic buttons and alarms
to keep out the marauders,
the savage robbers and killers
who do rape and torture innocent people to death,
start you own diesel or petrol power-generators,
use your cellular phone networks
to be able in life to remain.

Grant me my days in nature
to find tranquillity and peace
while I walk with God,
to experience the magic of every wild flower,
fruit, grass and tree where they are in abundance
do not spoil the little that is left.
Let the hedgehog, the baboon,
the pangolin, the caracal, the fox,
the jackal, the badger, the civet,
the genet, the mongoose, the suricate,
the rock rabbit, the duiker, the steenbok,
the grysbok, the suni, the klipspringer,
the reedbuck, the hare, the porcupine,
the squirrel, the spring hare
that are still living wild have a life
even if the baboons climb over the electrified wires
to rob the peach and apricot trees from all their fruit
as so little of these wild wanderers are left in peace
that soon all of them will be extinct.

Accord me to live again as in my boyhood days
far away from the concrete jungle and its tinned-pleasures
where life was easy and nature and its things were everywhere,
where toy oxen were made from clay
and it was as if all the days were without care.

[Reference:"The sleep of my Lions" by Douglas Livingstone.]