Perhaps You Can't Believe It.

Perhaps you can’t believe it, but there, right before my eyes,
Poverty, harsh and brutal, under South Africa’s blue skies.
The tin shacks of Soweto stretched out for mile upon mile,
And there was no one there, I saw, that did not wear a smile,

We drew up, parked the ‘combi’ decorated with African Art,
Children, they came running up and everywhere did dart.
Big eyes drowned and swamped you with their silent plea,
A little hand reached out and I felt it gently touch me.

I knelt down, held the little boy, a woman came up among,
Held out hands in friendship, said “my seventh son;” he hung
His head shyly as she spoke, but she lifted hers with pride,
Pulled back the rag curtain door, invited me to come inside.

I entered the windowless tin box, no particle of dirt was found.
All was swept completely clean although the floor was ground.
One outside toilet was shared by thirty-nine huts; this is true!
So these smiling, welcoming people, I’d like to share with you.