Zimbabwe’s little flame
Out of the deep dungeon, it juts
Now, look at its bloom
Hanging above the eastern skies
So crimson like the birth of a new flame-lily,
As softly as a newborn’s heartbeat,
It rises —
Painting hearts in its awakening self -
Embellishing dreams of a new beginning
Weaving with its thread-like fingers something fresh,
Something as bright as grandmother’s tales
O, it echoes -
Telling everyone to prepare a place in the heart
Silently, it asks: are you ready to
Tend to this little flame called Zimbabwe?
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