To the heath in the dell,
Scattered are thy thoughts…
Could it be?
Yes, African heath…
Though it is not I who you married.
It is not I whose children you bore.
Oh, I do not speak to the Laurel,
Or Belial…
No, I do not speak to Exalted Mother…
Nor do I speak to the Man’s Victory,
Nor to the Shores of the Dells,
Nor to the Saint blown aft a coast in the wind.
No, heath of the dell, I speak to you,
African Heath, the planes of the Serengeti,
You have found me once again.
I am sure the princes and the kings
Have hidden me…
I am hidden from you.
Forgive me Sierra, for not pursuing you.
I have seen you;—
But understand I cannot pursue you.
I have seen who you courted.
It was not me.
Twice you were made consort to kings…
I am not a king.
My name means Prince Crown New
But I am neither crowned, nor a prince.
A Broom Tree which made acquaintance…
And the acquaintance was not made.
B. K. Neifert 