Fairy-Tale Of The Ground Of My Fathers (Which Is No Fairy-Tale) Poem by Gert Strydom

(in answer to D. J. Opperman)

In dark South Africa many farms came into existence,
and my ancestor chose one single farm for him
while the natives did plunder, rob and kill,
did labour for many years and the harvests did amaze
while the natives danced around their fires,
did murder some of my ancestors at Blaaukrans.
The Lord God did witness everything silently
and now for dispossession the government sees its chance
where commercial farmers do feed the whole country
and hordes do lie and lurk in the darkness,
where thousands want to come and take everything,
while powerful politicians command armies in secret,
want to bring famine and ineptness,
do still sing their enchanting songs of murder and killing,
already have stripped me of an occupation and of my cars
and do twist and distort the truth with their lies.

[Reference:"Sprokie van die spikkelkoei" (Tale of the speckled cow)by D. J. Opperman.]