A Soliloquy on the Anga
Listen to: A Soliloquy on the Anga The people of this village, bound in time And place to earth, wave and greet me smiling, And hold me warm in courtesy's embrace. Well-favoured by distance does this village lie, Amid their valley's cool, grass-scented air. The fertile valley stretches broad and long; As morning’s rain gives rise to perfumed mist, With hints of lazy smoke from village fires, The voices of the village men returned From hunting, carry laughter through the hills. Yet what strange practice I witness here Beneath the sandstone hill-top's weathered brow; For watchful dead as if in judgement sit, With skin and tissue dry, like aged parchment, And watch their living kin through sightless eyes. Their bodies have their kin preserved by smoke, As smoke preserves their memory, good and ill, To rest upon a fragile, timber seat. Loved ones recall their lives, their loves and strife, And, as if living still, are they consoled. Oh, when will people grieve, if in their eyes