A blinding crimson sun
peeping through Acacia trees,
sliding cross black horizons
shimmering at even's breeze.
Golden flecks of foam
skiing o'er the seas,
Africa, my Africa-
is all of these.
Heat waves blast sweat droplets
skin grow red and sore.
Dust finds any moisture
clings to any pore.
Hellish but it calls me,
this vast valley floor.
Africa-you're all of this
and yet there's more.
Rift-red rocks, forbidding cliffs
tower o'er my head.
Darkness sneaks in early here
gravel forms my bed.
waterfalls revive me
as I break my daily bread.
You call my dearest Africa-
long after other calls are dead.
I couldn't do you justice,
t'would take all earthly time.
There are no words quite sufficient
nor with any sort of rhyme.
So goodbye, the plane is waiting
one of the empty seats is mine.
But Africa I leave my thanks
and hope and heart behind.
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