Versamelde gedigte

The Intermagoel
(A Bushveld Pangolin)

When the eastern sky flushed mother-o'-pearl and gold

I came across him at the break of day,

A weird, lone wanderer on that dusty way,

By barking zebras trod through tangled wold.
His beady eyes, bright amber-brown and cold,

Darted with timid glances towards the grey

And winter-ruined grass where safety lay,

But quickly closed, as o'er himself he rolled
His domed cuirass and curled, a ball of mail,

Inert, like something lifeless, on the sand,

In pitiful surrender to his fate.

So some poor neutral, innocent and frail,

Rolled in despair his liberty and land

In vain, to meet the invader's mordant hate.

May, 1940.