The Quiet Spot

The passion is great O mother.
Woman who sits at the centre place
Arms open to all in peace.
What is the calm in your black face
That makes your heart serene and green
And beautiful and sweet and clean.
 
You plant green trees
When the rest are playing nuclear politics.
You refuse to enjoy the melodies
Of guns and missiles.
Africa, the quiet breeze
That brings warmth to the soul.
How come they catch cold
Anytime you sneeze.