A tribute to Rhodesia's Soldier Pioneers.
He held Dads medals in his hand,
As they lowered his casket down
A hole dug in that barren land,
On the slopes of Salisbury Town.
Head bowed down towards the sand,
Tears raining from his eye,
On the Medals clutched within his hand,
Like raindrops from on high.
He listened to the prayers and Word,
And to the eulogy;
No finer words had this lad heard,
Of his only progeny.
Rhodesia was, in those first days,
Untamed and fancy free,
Dingaan was the black mans praise,
King of M’tabele.
All the pacts and treaties broken,
By Dingaan and his son,
Treaties both penned and spoken,
Now broken every one.
Rebellion grew against those white
By blacks a thirst for war,
Warriors vexing their great might
Were fifty score, times four.
An assegai had pierced his chest,
As he fought hand to hand.
These ‘Murungus’ coming from the west,
Unwelcomed in Black’s land.
Proud medals from some distant war,
His life’s worth left to show,
Reminders of campaigns of yore,
Fought for a land… he’d never know.