Although nothing is without end,
even the rain hammering down with hail,
it sometimes felt that way
with lightning bolts falling
down from the sky
like angry whip lashes
the young oxen milling around,
ready to stampede away
into the direction of the swamp
where the deadly tulips grow.
Your horse neighs frightened
drawing up her front hooves
with every thunder bolt lashing down
and you let her gallop at the edge of the cattle
to round them into the shelter of the camp,
cutting off the leading troublemakers
and the hail coming down in force
feels like buckshot from the old shotgun
and one ox, gigantic in size snorts
starts running on
crashing through small trees
of which the stems whiplash past your head
and when in anger you reach it,
it turns back and starts to walk back
into the direction of the camp
looking at you
with big eyes as tame as that of a cow.
[Reference: Cattle in the rain by Musaemura Zimunya.]
Gert Strydom
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/cattle-in-the-rain/
