On the lovely road to Ixopo, I hold my spirit.
We dig a well together.
I lower the bucket, he fills it up.
We drink, we celebrate, our one heart
soothed by what is near Then ,I scratch
his pensive head with my thumb.
If I let, he will zigzag through the veld
looking for a branch to perch....See, umfundisi,
the stars are getting closer. At dawn,
the titihoya will cry, and I will lose
my spirit....Cradle me, old man.
Why do we live here?
Written by Alan paton