African Gold

Africa is shining under a red hot sun,
The desert shimmering in its heat,
Animals roam, enjoying the heat of the sun,
On the planes resting still.
The towns are busy, heavy and full of bustle,
Keeping the town in an even keel,
I circle the stalls, searching for gold,
Seeing every mountain crumble,
The till shedding its heavy load,
The robes of black and red colour every stall,
I at once forgetting my gold,
To move on and go to a stall for a carpet to unfold.

A woman peels an apple, her hand in motion still,
She had offered me an apple to eat as a meal.
The stall man is saying nothing,
His head in upward tilt,
I tempt to offer more but with a nod, go.
Going to another stall, I'm told the price of a fortune ring,
The ring is classed as a ruby, its value as yet unknown,
But I will take this ruby ring as my own.

I see a Buddha statue, his body sculpted in bronze,
I only wishing this statue to put as a trophy in my home.
Knowing no English, the stall man only nods,
He accepts my offer, and quickly I go,
The bicycles quick to pass by tow-by-tow.
The robes of red and black capture me still,
I quick to buy food for a meal,
The dizziness of the crowd nearly losing me my even keel.

The gold of Africa is precious as stone,
The rings of ruby and gold encasing my fingers,
Each stone the jewel of Mother Earth,
The Africans look on as my eyes on the ruby linger,
The beauty of the red stone on gold to be of worth,
The stones to be found buried deeper under Mother Earth,
I carry the Buddha statue, its bronze shining still,
Each finger wrapped around him in proud joyous thrill.

by Paula Glynn

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