Classic Poem

Drained are the kettles,
The evening meal is over;
Round about the red-haired fires
Weary trekkers rest;
Brown bats quiver
As the locks of dusk they scissor,
And the last yellow sun-bloom
Withers from the west.

Mournful come the cries
Of the agitated plover,
That sweeps around to save a nest
From eyes that pry:
Fires flame and stutter;
Smoke's blue banners flutter;
And a jackal saws the stillness
With his eerie cry.

Slowly creeps the moon
From behind the sombre koppies,
Pelting the darkness
With diamond and pearl:
Like a lake, wind-rippled,
The sky with stars is stippled
And through the aromatic scrub
Breezes sigh and swirl.