In my herb garden Perfumes a shroud of Dilly dalliance From the brilliant baker above In (African) time My garden blossoms And I question why You believe my garden Is no place for herbs? Why when my soil reclines Dotted, lined, smothered with little fragrant plants? Do not suppose your Sickly green monsters superior To my spiced golden samples They have their own Landscapes Loveliness Language Lifestyle Legacy Lusts And may the proud song of my people flourish in flowery fullness As you allege your herb garden does.
This is a response to another poem entitled 'The Herb Garden' in which the writer makes a distinction between some virtues of England and the comparative harshness of my homeland. My poem counters by asserting that South Africa has its own virtues, which are different and not inferior.