The Gift Of Gold. Poem by Tony Adah

Every morning
The mountains rolled and meet the lowlands
And in between, resplendent rivers
Slither through like great pythons
In the wild.
Trees sway in the wind
Butterflies hover over
Splashy whorls of flowers holding nectar
We grumble inadequate
Bees hum and sting
In a selfish bid to have the sweet taste alone
Birds twitter songs that the gorillas
Echo beating their chest
The jungle chuckles at the whispers
Of hungry men in the arena of bounty means.

Our forebears
Have been here long before we came
And never a glimpse caught of this beauty
Until that sweet early morning
When the flecks of native thralldom
Fell off our eyes
Then the pulchritude of the aged lady
Came to be bare.
On the spur of the moment
Though late found, many youthful grooms
Avail to make her a darling bride
Till eternity.

Her gracious strides of ageless beauty
Stands between Balegete and Jamestown
Though her index toe be lost with the liquid gold
Still she's the gift of gold
It is no gamble that we find ourselves here
Where miles of trees grow
And touch the azure sky
With their tired xylems working low
And the leaves and the stems and the roots
That heal of pain and penury
In great harmony with our folks.

The huge solid wealth
Of gold and all bound underground groan
For the dearth of care
Still we grumble for the
Lack of the gift of gold
Where gifted hands abound.