yasminia

While I was walking along the sweet sim of Yasminia, wrapped into my wool sweather in the late autumn breeze, watching some horses there, a sudden memory came back to visit me, a memory of Africa. Memories of the cold breeze’s feeling at dawn, when the nature wakes up, and the animals get ready for a new day. Memories of different chills, maybe different animals.
I can’t write poems. So I found this one, from Tirzah Gilmore, to give voice to my melancholy feeling. I’m grateful.

Dawn’s First Light

The sun rises over the African plain
And dawn’s first light softly wakes the sleeping birds
As it creeps to brighten the farthest domain.

Now the fleeing darkness whispers to the herds,
“Make use of the daylight until I return.”
Slowly, they shuffle to their feet at these words.

While the day moves on, the sun starts to burn
Making the grasses glow with its golden heat,
And the animals’ stomachs begin to yearn.

They all disperse, looking for something to eat,
Till sun and horizon will once again meet.