From the Great Karoo

There was dust in all the streets Of that little town where I come from And water for its thirst Ran bright along their sides Past gardens green with beans and pumpkins And trees for peaches and the apricot. Great suns blazed in noonday skies Bleached by bones of drought And at the doors of little dusty houses Little flower gardens fought for life In deathless emerald and rust and red And now that I am old Each tear upon its dust Is water salted as its own For flowers blood-red from my heart. John Howla nd Beaumont