If I know a song of Africa

Of the giraffe and the African New Moon

Lying on her back

Of the ploughs in the fields

And the sweaty faces of the coffee pickers

Does Africa know a song of me?

Would the air over the plain quiver with a colour that I had on ?

Or the children invent a game in which my name was ?

Or the full moon throw a shadow over the gravel of the drive that was like me?

Or would the eagles of Ngong look out for me ?

Karen Blixen


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