Lala ngoxolo

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I can’t explain the all black attire and sunglasses at a wedding except to say my uncle was barely stylish but greatly loving
My family is from rural Eastern Cape. I mean gravel road, sheep and shepherd, valleys and hills kind of rural. I spent some of my holidays there as a young’un. Pulling goats teats, chasing chickens, listening to battery operated radio and by all means avoiding the long drop. My uncle lived in the serenity of these blue sky’s and green hills. When I visited, it was a true meeting of country and city mouse. I would trade him stories about the metal bird we had flown in for a lesson in herding. He joked that he had once been hit on the head by human droppings from a passing plane. I dedicate one of my favourite poems to him, in the hope that he will dance with the daffodils for all of eternity. Lala ngoxolo malume (RIP Uncle):
I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud
By William Wordsworth
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.


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