Classic Poem

Winds from the far Kalahari,
Blasts from the furnaces of the sun,
Boom suddenly across the veld,
Blazing hotter as they blow:
Scourged by their devastating breath,
All that Drought has spared
Of herb and flower
Shrivels, crumbles and dies.

Winds from the far Kalahari
Whirl over the vast veld:
Resurrected by their vehement breath,
Forests, that have been dead for dusty æons,
Tower to the heavens,
Stretch forth stupendous boughs,
Branches banishing the sun's brightness,
Boughs sprouting in multitudinous blossoms,
That swirl, sway and quiver,
Strange, shapeless, yellow blossoms—
Flowers of dust.