Shadows of a Marching Soldier

On the bank of the Niger lie we; gazing
Something has snatched our eye –
in the lush green scenery along the bank.

She keeps flowing, and we, as followers,
Follow truly, and yes we must!
For all of us – today has come.

In gracious paraphernalia of yesterday; singing
Sullen songs with fiendish effrontery –
the talking drum and witless gong take down the notes

The crescent moon, on a ledge; hanging
Looks down on us effetely, with fig in hand
Clapping – rhythmically.

Dancing begins in earnest. Too soon
Large drops of beaded sweat trickles down and sears the sand –
the night bearing it on its blistered back through the length of the Niger.

Every man we come across partakes of its bilious kernel, till we are spent.
Yesterday is still here; today has not come and
we are left to wander the length of the Niger.

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