Out of hellfire
Out of hell, fire and thorn, I was born
And carved
Chip by chip,
Then chiselled to my bone marrow,
And left out to dry under
A sun that bleached my skin black;
Till I nearly became one with dust
Then sand-papered and polished with a thick wax
Now, here I stand like a fine sculpture - a son of the soil
My features stand out, and
My bust is set up
Ready to conquer anything that arises
In this hidden valley of a thousand hills


