The wanderers of the land.
201 Words
The eldest brother, steadfast and stern,
Carried stories his ancestors earned.
Of families torn from distant shores,
Of treks through veld where the lion roars.
Through misted hills and rivers wide,
They marched with courage as their guide.
The Great Trek echoed in every stride,
A journey of honor and sorrow they couldn’t hide.
The middle brother, torn by doubt,
Saw lands that whispered, “Fear, turn about.”
Yet he held the map of heritage dear,
Through veld and drought, through grief and fear.
The youngest, with heart both tender and bold,
Found beauty in stories of silver and gold.
He traced the footsteps of Voortrekker kin,
Where ox-wagons battled through loss and sin.
They faced the storms of foreign decree,
The British guns, the chains of the sea.
Wars that raged in dusty towns,
Left scars on the land, on frowns and crowns.
And through it all, she lay asleep,
Her dreams were entwined in valleys deep.
A symbol of people whose voices were hushed,
Whose lands were seized, whose spirits crushed.
Yet the brothers pressed on, hearts aflame,
Carrying the weight of history’s name.
Through veldt fires, frosts, and rain,
They sought to restore what time had strained.
- Writer
