Shumba Famba
Verdant-vivid is the tall grass.
Th’waste rain-fall flows, fitfully free, unto sea o’er reams of language earth-born.
Flame-flick’ring fire of th’ancient dragon’s tongue callcries – Cymraeg! – o’er where the riverrun writes sediment’ry.
Inscribe upon those scrolls, your stylus dipped in deathless ink, the ‘glyphs I’ve gathered swiftly for to fend off time!
The view of rain that leaps the cloud-wisp walls ‘n wings its way unto the earth – I spread my thumb ‘n finger for to raise katsurakawa to a focal point.
Your essence, earnestly put forth unto impermanence to weather storms of whetherwhims.