Where the sun meets the moon
is where i lay now waiting for your doom
its been more than a year
and as even the wind knows, life to me was never more fair
at least here, i have nothing to fear
i am in good health, though worms chew my knees
and my hands have gone brittle, like old thorn trees
but that is just, i died at eighty nine
and of all my fine sons, my grave knows none
do not worry, i your father am not sad
shame and poverty, have always been my bed
on that bed me and your mother lay
and for that bed, you my sons will pay
i find solace only in what the pastor said
as i ate his bread and the beer he shared
'nevaro, the lord will raise you up '
even from wood, stone and dust
and in this i now place all my trust
when my words reach you as it shall come to pass
please my sons, do not make a fuss
neither the sun nor the moon has yet risen
and the devil tells me, he still hasnt finished your prison
tinashe severa
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-old-mans-curse/
