Words

Beneath the mighty fig.
Sit I, lost in wonder.
Are you holding up the heavens?
This and more I ponder.

The things you had witnessed
If only to me you’d tell.
Like the fames that roared around you.
The day the slaves rebelled.

Of the night pirates trekked,
Through this lonely valley.
You, still, their secret kept.
Despite all begging from me.

What sounds the forest made?
Two hundred years ago.
Did the gusty ocean breeze,
Still whistle down below?


Was the Potoo still watching?
With its black and yellow eyes?
The dead of night patrolling!
While sounding its dreadful cries!

If only you could utter,
A single legible reply.
I would melt like heated butter.
I’d stay here till I die!

Yet silently still you stood.
Leaves tickling the belly of the sky.
Meandering through the breeze.
Speak! Please! Don’t be shy!