The aloe stretches her succulent arms
Enjoying the midday sun,
And the campfire leaves are red flames
Licking at the feet of the spekboom shrubs,
Like a picture in a gallery
Of the burning bush.
But this is not holy ground.
The feet come:
Black school shoes caked red,
Bloody dust billowing in low clouds,
As they stamp the campfire leaves
Trying to put out imaginary flames.
And the aloe loses arms
As the feet come down,
And the spekboom stems split
With a sharp crack.
This is not holy ground.
Afterwards,
In the quiet,
Too late the loerie cries:
"Go away! Go away!"
Love 💕