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At the edge of the canyon, |
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looking down upon the haze... |
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which hides the future of this planet, |
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home, our earth through all the days |
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which have been and will come. |
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I hear the running feet of those yet to follow. |
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At the end of such life as I call my own |
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I glimpse that yet to come; |
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springing from me in the future |
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trees of family shall run. |
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I have carried the seed: |
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conceived from me, all people multiply forward. |
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When it's over they will dig me from the gorge |
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and proclaim that I am the first Man: |
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first soldier, first speaker, first tool-user, |
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that with me civilisation began, in some order. |
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I have stumbled... |
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Is it right or am I planned? |
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Still I feel it |
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still I know that some day |
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the world will fall to this human hand, |
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this clenched fist. |
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If that's the way it's going to be |
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I can only say "Good luck!". |
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You Men who follow on from me |
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must crawl your way out of here |
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or all our lives'll be |
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trapped in the chasm. |
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The dying day: |
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I stand upon the edge, stare down |
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at what's to come below. |
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In a way there's all the future in me, |
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destiny already known. |
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Already tired in my heart, |
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I start the long walk forward |
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into Rift Valley, |
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to rest in Rift Valley. |
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Still instinctively trying to save my kind |
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I survive into the future. |
