O’ generous soul in his days of glorious
life honoured, now here in the winter falls
like a Greek wall silently lay in a strange box,
while your tots around your side await,
your last voice and wise words to hear with grit.
Like birds of passage, we all are tendering
with care, love and life for a night but
quickly smothered by withering
Yet, before you went yonder with
your neuter of basiloko, had, like the sweet basil of the genus Ocimum, many lives
and of your own seeds
sweetened by your love and unfeigned mirth.
O’ generous soul! We, at this mournful
episode of your transiting journey, tearfully
wail as we wave, not at your trouble to meet
but your joy to have to greet;
as the bands of your angelic companions meekly up the hill environ,
With kerchief in their hands your tears to dry apace,
and your hope to give in the eventide.