Dreams From The Klein Karoo Poem by Christian Muller

Far from the fields of green is where we set
Our ploughs, along the empty river bed
That scars the barren downs. Where bokke fret
For tufts of toughest grass. The airy head
Of Sidney's pen could not a pleasant verse
Produce about this God-forsaken land.
At times we hear along the fence, the curse.
The silent deaf'ning sound of God's command.
Yet be it not in silence where we hear
The voice of God? Where closer could we be
To heaven's scorn, then 'neath the thousand eyes
That watch our silver nights? My God how near
We be to paradise, when we can see
No Eden grows beneath these empty skies.