Historical Treat; Jopie Fourie
271 Words
In the dust of the veld where the thorn trees sigh,
Rode Jopie Fourie beneath a rebel sky.
An Afrikaner heart, steadfast and true,
To the oath of his fathers, he vowed to be true.
The year was nineteen hundred and fourteen’s flame,
When his brother turned soldier in Britain’s name.
The Empire’s flag called men to fight,
But Jopie stood firm for his people's rights.
For the Boers had bled in the wars before,
Their farms burned black, their hearts made sore.
And though the Union called him to stand,
He could not lift a gun against his own land.
Beyond the Orange, in the Namib sand,
The Germans waited, hand in hand.
A pact was signed in quiet trust—
A promise of peace, of honor, of dust.
But Smuts and Botha, beneath the Crown,
Sent soldiers north to strike them down.
Jopie refused that Empire’s call,
“I serve my volk, or not at all.”
They caught him there, proud and tall,
In a khaki coat, with no regret at all.
To Pretoria’s walls they bound his fate,
A martyr’s calm in a soldier’s state.
“Fire,” they said, and rifles cried,
Yet none could claim his soul had died.
For in each Afrikaner’s steadfast chest,
His spirit beats, defiant, blessed.
He would not kneel to the empire’s reign,
Nor trade his blood for fleeting gain.
And though his body fell that day,
His name will never fade away.
O Jopie Fourie, steadfast flame,
The veld still whispers your noble name.
For freedom’s cost, through pain and strife,
You gave your soul, you gave your life.
- Writer
