This land,
simple rhythms and
discordant melodies
rising from the hills,
walks lazy.

World-wise interlopers
try to bend her to their will.
She laughs,
showing sharpened teeth,
eyes half-mast.

She gives them her body
but hides her soul
in the horns of the acacia.

And when they are spent
she rises
and languorously walks away
singing the songs of her ancestors.