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A Soldier And A Scout

I remember when I was young

Yes I was young and he was old

I was a scout and he was a soldier

He held my stick

And I held his gun,

And no he did not touch me

Yes, he was my friend

He was never in need

But he was a friend indeed

I am a soldier now

He is dead

And his son is a scout

His son holds my gun

And I hold his stick

In truth his gun is not mine

But it is his

And I will never use it against him

I will never torment my people

- Poem from the book “Cries From A Troubled African Nation”