Swelter of summer in the veld.
An old buggy hums along,
Playing a German tune.
The bushbucks scatter from cover.
Roland dismounts; his partner too
Stares out across the thicket sea,
With quavering jaw, puffs his pipe
And slings a hunting gun.
Says he to Roland:
“Here, we are masters of the plain!
In the company of beasts,
We should not be lonely,
Yet my heart cries out
For land and love that I left.”

Roland stamps a dusty rock.
Arms hang freely, eyes sunken low.
His bronzed face,
Marked with the age of a soldier,
Nurtures a sad smile....
“In the land of Amazons,
We roved like bandits
And lived like kings;
We could take whatever we wished,
Amidst the cries of desperate men….
Don't you see, brother?
Men like us are destined
Never to find happiness.”

...Evening birdsong ushers
Cool night over the veld.