Image by Leroy Skalstad from Pixabay
I watched him spit at a steady rate,
Chewing at his stick, his head held straight..
He was sat on a stool, right in front of his land,
Typical, of a pure bred African man...
He had on just a garment, coloured red,
Answering greetings, without turning his head..
And while above, the clouds gathered in earnest,
I watched him chew, with unbothered patience...
I knew he had come a very long mile,
His features had the clear effects of time..
His face, a picture of contorted rage,
Doubtlessly caused, by the facets of old age...
But then he had no fear for the coming clouds,
For he was black, and I knew he was proud...
Thanks for stopping by...
Cheers!
