endless buckets of water,
yonder by the riverside
she filled her buckets of water

on an African riverbank
the others in her tribe carried them home
where the women were busy with their
duties...

the men were off hunting a lion gone mad
who had killed, a mother of the tribe as she slept
as her blood drenched body was dragged and devoured
maimed and twisted

into a million agonies, the children huddled
in a group, as one tribesman waited with a
white weapon of destruction, he waited and he watched

into the night the buckets of water were heard,
as a piece of wild gazelle meat was left,
as the lion devoured, the sound of buckets
rattling in the night African air, rolling, turning,
the roars of the beast and then three shots

they ran to the place at the outside of the
children's sanctuary as the tribesman
stood with one foot on the beast's belly
grining from ear to ear

as a rich sigh of relief came
the babes of Africa will sleep tonight
and their wive's eyes beamed with pide

carry the beast, and let the warrior's feast
the night is young and the moon shines on
gallant men

it is morning, the children kick the buckets
and sing down by river, laughing and playing....
as the vessels roll and rattle, as they chase
them: The children thirsting, kicking, seeking...