Here I Am, Where I

If I Know A Song Of Africa, Of The Giraffe And The African New Moon Lying On Her Back, Of The Plows In The Fields And The Sweaty Faces Of The Coffee Pickers, Does Africa Know A Song Of Me? Will The Air Over The Plain Quiver With A Color That I Have Had On, Or The Children Invent A Game In Which My Name Is, Or The Full Moon Throw A Shadow Over The Gravel Of The Drive That Was Like Me, Or Will The Eagles Of The Ngong Hills Look Out For Me?

As We Grow Old We Slowly Come To Believe That Everything Will Turn Out Badly For Us, And That Failure Is In The Nature Of Things; But Then We Do Not Much Mind What Happens To Us One Way Or The Other.

And Were My Faith So Strong That It Could Move Mountains, That Is The Mountain That I Would Make Come To Me.

There Is Something About Safari Life That Makes You Forget All Your Sorrows And Feel As If You Had Drunk Half A Bottle Of Champagne — Bubbling Over With Heartfelt Gratitude For Being Alive.

Do You Know...what I Think Is A Great Pity? It Is This: That We Have All Become Such Skeptics That We Hardly Believe What Our Pious Grandmothers Told Us.