THE ORANGE DRUM

Tribal knowledge
Brings claims from ancient lands
Here, once stood a grove.
Not just of orange fruit but of ancestors who played
Their drums. They spoke to
Night stars. To the Sun who became
A moon. The moons – all moons from high above
Shone on her people below as
They danced
They drummed.

Here, rings with song, with beat that comes from
The orange grove.
In spring her blossoms
Hold each petal with a word.
Take her at her word. She asks the people
To drum. To dance
To sing.
To make music together
Altogether, side-by-side
They drum.

We rode up, high up and up
We rode. Through the orange grove
High up the mountain slope. The oranges were like her people below
They sang.
They danced.
They danced, they sang
And drummed to the beat. To the rhythm
Of the sound of her people. The sound
Rang true. The beat resounded, so true, so strong
Of their orange grove.

The grove gave to her people, her perfume
Of sweet orange blossom.
She knows she must bring people together. Today
From afar, they come, they come
In dance. In song, they come
To celebrate the Sun.
The Sun is their song.
A song with a beat. A rhythm
They all know.
They drum.
#