THE COCKROACH.
Two hundred million years ago
When life on earth began to grow
I left the swamp that gave me birth
And crawled across the unformed earth.
The age of Giant Reptiles came
And went — but I was gust the same;
I saw the monsters grow and thrive
And die. But I was still alive.
And creatures turned tCtoards the sky,
Grew feathers, wings, began to fly.
I stalk watched them in the sun and rain
And Crawled inside my hole again.
And when the times of Ice came back
I sheltered in my tiny crack
While Glacial Ages ruled like kings
And s^zed and froze all living things.
Pour times the ice came back between
The Ages when the earth was green.
And creatures grew and lived and thrived
But very few, like fife, survived.
I saw the first man grind down stone
And carve an implement in bone
And tame the horse, the cow, the dog,
And scratch a picture on a log.
And fifteen thousand years ago
I saw the man who made a bow.
I watched him build his house of skin,
And when he finished - I crawled in.
i lived with man. I saw him rise
To conquer seas and lands and skies.
I crawled among the drumbling fes stones
Of cities strewn with mankind's bones.
And Egypt, Persia, Greecel±xkra Peru,
And Babylon and Rome I knew.
Empires and dynasties now gone
And wars and glories lost and won.
Still I survived. And when you sleep
Through cities, buildings, homes I creep,
^A&z (As once in tent and cave I crept)
And feast off crumbs and scraps unswept.
Yes, through the ages, this is strange,
I of all creatures did not change.
I, Cockroach, was the same, you know
Two hundred million years ago.
THE ROSE BEETLE
Something |jj)lew into my room one night
When the door was shut and the light was low,
Something gave me an awful fright
Binging and bagKZKg banging to and fro.
I closed my eyes and covered my head
Because I was afraid to look
At the something zooming overhead
Like a dragon out of a story book.
It boomed and banged from wall to wall
It buzzed and bounded around the floor.
It didn't like my room at all,
Went ping-ping-ping against the door.
I think I was too scared to shout
And much too scared to take a peep.
I wished the Something would fly out . . .
And so at last I fell asleep.
But when I woke the room was light.
I searched around to find the thing The Something flying in the night
That hit my cupboard ping-ping-ping
And there across my bedroom floor
The Something that boomed up and down
Crawled slowly out towards the door A little beetle, hard and browni
OXEN IN JOHANNESBURG
Before the dawn, when darkness is most deep
I sometimes wake, and in the silence hear n
The sound of clopping hooves pass slow and toiear
And reach me through the mists of recent sleep.
I hear the cart creaking from side to side,
The oxen plodding slowly by the light
Of a swaying lamp whose rays cut from the night
Fantastic sweeps of horns, curving and wide.
Ah, strange to hear that slow procession pass
By buildings white against a starry sky,
They who have known cool drifts and passes high
And stood knee-deep among the feathered grass.
And I, hearing their rhythmic ring of feet
Can dream a sweet veld wind blew through the street.
THE ARUM FROG.
On the fringe of a ii lily
The little gnome sat
Small as a bead
Folded and fat.
Asleep in the sunshine
On carpet of gold
Curled in a bundle
Tiny and old.
I wanted to wake him
To see if he'd talk.
I put out a finger
Trembled the stalk.
He woke in a panic
He shivered with fright
Jumped on the stamen
Clung to it tight.
He gazed at me staring
With shiny-bright eyes
Old as the earth
Terribly wise.
Then flashing a spell
As bright as the day
He whispered some magic Vanished away.'
THE CHAMELEON
On a branch of a tree the chameleon stands
As still as can be.
He is spotted and speckled with dark and light,
He looks like a leaf - but his eyes are bright;
And he holds on the branch with four little hands
Like part of the tree.
The chameleon waits till an insect comes past,
For he wants to sup.
Out in a flash his bright tongue flicks,
With glue on the end, so the insect sticks,
You hardly see it - it goes so fast;
And he eats it up.
The chameleon walks like a leaf on the tree,
When the breezes blow.
He dances and sways as he creeps up a twig
It's hardly a walk, it's more like a jog,
And that's how he makes himself hard to see,
Unless you know.
And if the chameleon gets a fright And this is true You'll see his colour completely change,
That's what I think is rather strange.
He might go dark or he might go light,
But he changes hue.
PIET-MY-VROU
HIPPOPOTAMUS
Down in the river
Where wide waters spread
I lie in the mud
Right up to my head.
The sun ripples under
Where green water flows
As I lie in the mud
Right up to my nose.
Down in the river
With sun on my back
As round as a rock
And shiny and black
A little white bird
Is perched on my head
As I hide from the heat
In the grey river bed.
When fierce noonday sun
Sends rays like a blade
The animals kutoc lie
With a thorn-tree for shade.
They wait for the evening
And flick at the flies
That thicken their hides
And worry their eyes.
They come to the river
To drink long and deep
When evening spreads over
And tall shadows creep.
But cool in green water
That flows round my feet
Amid the gold ripples
I hide from the heat.
I wake on slimmer mornings
When all the house is still
And only birds are stirring
Beyond my window sill.
I peep behind the curtain
For hiding in a tree
My Piet-my-vrou is singing
His three clear notes are ringing
And Piet-m y-vrou, and Piet-my-vrou
He's whistling to mjpf.
I do not often see him
He's quick and brown and shy
He lives among the tree-tops
He dances in the sky.
But often in the summer
I lie beneath a tree
And hear him whistle brightly
With music gay and lightly
And Piet-my-vrou, and Piet-my-vrou
He calls me, one-two-three.
I hear him in the garden
He calls me when I play
But if I try to chase him
He simply flies away.
I know I cannot catch him
He must be wild and free
His three quick notes descending
Repeating, never-ending,
And Piet-my-vrou, and Piet-my-vrou
He's whistling to me.
-- ---- SiiillGTMD DEETLE3You may laugh at the hippo My mouth is too wide
My eyes are too tiny
Mud cracks on my side But you can't hide as I ^
Where the cool river flows
From the sun and the heat
With mud in your toes.
THE HORNBILL AND THE ANT
A hombill sat upon a tree
Watching an ant go by
'You look so awfully small," said he,
"You cannot even fly.
Don’t you wish for wings like me?"
"Not I," said the ant, "Not I."
The hornbill shook his yellow bill
And gave a raucous call.
"The great wide world beyond the hill
You cannot see at all,"
The ant said, keeping very still,
"I like it, being small.
Summer days are happy
Everyone is gay,
Whistle, beetle, whistle,
Through the burning day.
In the river bushes
Deep among the grass
Shrill and never-ceasing
As the children pass.
Though they do not see you
You are always near,
Whistle, beetle, whistle,
Summer still is here.
When the nights are chilly
When the grass is gold,
Then you will be silent
Hiding from the cold.
So while summer lingers
And the moon is white,
Whistle, beetle, whistle,
Deep into the night,
Whistle, beetle, whistle,
Deep into the n ight.
"In being tiny, so I've found,"
The little ant replied,
"The earth is mine, the soft brown ground,
A place where I can hide.
When doors are closed, without a sound
I creep through cracks inside.
"And I see things you'll never see,
I like it, being small," said he.
THE TORTOISE. THE TURTLE. THE TERRAPIN
The tortoise, the turtle and the terrapin
•Lived in a cave with a sandy floor
And all day long in front of their door
The sea went out, the sea came in
And the hot sun shone on the golden sand
Where the three went walking, hand in hand,
The tortoise, the turtle, the terrapin.
The tortoise liked the sea, and yet
He simply hated getting wet.
"Those restless waves just make me spin,"
The tortoise said, "I feel quite sick.
I’d rather walk where the grass is thick,"
He told the turtle and terrapin.
The turtle on the other hand
Was fond of swimming in the sea.
"This," he would cry, " is the life for me."
He thought the waves were simply grand.
He used his legs 'aadyfish use fin.
"It's really warm - oh, come on ini"
He called to the tortoise and terrapin.
And what about the terrapin?
He also liked tot take a dip.
He walked in the waves with a hop and a skip
And let the water splash his chin.
But he was just as happy out
And strolled with the tortoise round about.
Now a tortoise is nice to keep for a pet
And a turtle is rather jolly, too.
I like the’'1both you know, and yet
I think the terrapin's best, don't you?
Some day, I hope, beside the sea,
When the waves are shining bright as tin,
I’ll meet him with a friendly grin.
Or perhaps I’ll come across all three,
The tortoise, the turtle, the terrapin.
THE GIANT OF TABLE MOUNTAIN
There is a giant in the Cape who stands
With iron shoulders lifted to the sky.
His name is known in many distant lands
The ships from far, strange places pass him by.
The towns are tiny toys seen xhx from his eyes
With loop on lopp of silver-stranded shore.
The forests are his robes; his roof, the skies.
The vast, hot plains of Africa his floor.
The wrinkled seas tesxs beyond feis giant feet
Dazzle him all day long, but in the nights
He stands knee-deep in dark, and street by street
He casts down shining necklaces of lights.
Out on the rim of Africa, so proud
He stands and guards the gateway that he krssx bars,
All night he wears his careless cloak of cloud
And dreams among the avenues of stars.
m
0\)T£lViQJft
ZEBRAS OF THE OOTEKmrCfflA MOUNTAINS
High above the town
Where the agapanthas grow
Stand the hills of Outeniqua
Wrapped in mist as white as snow.
Across the mountain slopes
Green with heath and flowering grass
Stepping in their jazz-striped jackets
The little zebras pass.
But what happens to the Outeniqua zebras
When the rain upon the mountain starts to fall?
Do their stripes begin to run so they end up looking dun
And they haven't any black and white at all?
Is there a little man at Outeniqua
With paint and brushes, hiding from the rain,
Who works all through the night painting back the black and white
Until the zebras all have stripes again?
When summer comes along
The clouds melt one by one
And the hills of Outeniqua
Rise like castles in the sun.
But what happens to the Outeniqua zebras
When the sun beats down upon the mountain side?
Do they shelter in the shade if their stripes begin to fade,
Or do they take them somewhere to be dyed?
Is there a fairy shop at Outeniqua
Where a tailor stitches on the white and black,
Or do their stripes just grow? How I wish that I could know
How the zebra* gets the stripes upon his back.'
THE WAY THE DASSIES LIVE
When people say "It'«-ooW w » y ,
Put on a jersey when you play,"
I sometimes want to run away ...
I want to run «kBiBxtkBx2« away to the hills
Out to the hills where the Dassies hide.
I would like to live as the Dassies live;
They don’t wear coats - only fur outside.
When people say "Just look at your face,
Wash it at once - it's a perfect disgrace.'"
I sometimes wish I knew a place ...
Somewhere among the iocky hills,
Away in the hills with the Dassies small.
They never mind if your face isn't clean.
They never wash themselves at all.
When people say "Now clean your plate,
Eat every scrap, and sit up straightJ"
I wish that I could go out late ...
Out to the hills with the Dassies brown,
They never use a fork or knife,
They lick their paws when the meal is done.
I would enjoy that kind of life.
They don't wear shoes, they don't wear socks
They wouldn't care about dirty frocks
They simply hop among the rocks.
And no-one says"Now stop your play,
Run and put your toys away,
It's time for bed." Yes, one fine day
I'm going to live the Dassies' way.
TEE HAMMERKOP
gQK-TOKKIE
Marshes and dams and vleis
,Where rushes grow like a mop
And the ground is spongy and grey That's the home of the Hammerkop.
Sticks bound together with mud
With branches and rags on top
And a little round door at the side
That's the neM of the Hammerkop.
Frogs that hide in the grass
Or jump in the water - plopi
And silvery fishes as well That's the food of the Hammerkop.
Brown as the bark of a tree
Wearing a feathery crop
And legs that are slender as reeds That's the dress of the Hammerkop.
So watch where the grass is long
You will see it caper and hop
And dance in front of its nest That's the way of the Hammerkop.
GIEAFFE.
Is it fun
being tdll
Giraffe?
Do you like
being high
With your head
ip.,p.ni~
in the sky?
You can spy
over walls
You can look
over trees
You can see
far away
Like the bird
and the bees
Who can fly
where they please
Bear the clouds
near the sun.
So I say,
is it fun
Giraffe?
Do you like it
up there
Girfiffe?
I wish 1
could look down
On the houses
and town
With my head
in the air
Like a olewtt----------------on a bike.
I would like
to see all
That I never
can see
Just because
I am small.
So between
you and me
Is it fun
being tall
Giraffe?
I'm shiny and black
Says Tok-tokkie,
I lie on my back
Says Tok-tokkie.
I'm ugly, I know
And you think^ Ii am slow,
But please pet me go,
Says Tok-tokkie.
I walk round and round
Says Tok-tokkie,
Make a hole in the ground
Says Tok-tokkie.
Then I lie there and hide
With my feelers spread wide
Till the ants fall inside
Says Tok-tokkie.
When I've eaten my fill
Says Tok-tokkie
I lie very still
Says Tok-tokkie.
In a sort of a swoon
Through many high noon
For I'm then a cocoon,
Says Tok-tokkie.
But one day I awake
Says Tok-tokkie,
Through my soft coat I break.
Says Tok-tokkie.
Spread my silk wings to dry
Theftsoar to the sky
A fine dragon-fly —
Not Tok-tokkie.'
AFRICAN ELEPHANT
My brother from India is gentle and tame,
He carries the children who call him by name.
But I do not care
To trot like a dog,
To walk round the zoo
At a smooth steady jog,
To have people stare
As I lifi up a log.
My brother from India, with men on his back,
Is quiet and grey. I am noisy and black.
I like to be free
To go my own way,
To stand in the river
For half of the day,
To uproot a tree
In anger or play.
I have never been tamed and kept in a cage,
"hffn they tried it T +>»— A-- J
-liung dia-T-snouT
-----With my trunk raised on high,
My great ragged ears
Flapped wild to the sky.
I broke my way out
Or else I would die.