The Death of Old Men
Old Henri is dying.
Children play tag in the dust.
And we, whose world is next,
sit with him under the tree
and watch his knowledge burn.
All he said: like a dictionary.
All he did: like an atlas.
All he was: like a library.
Old Henri is dying.
Youngsters fight in the grass.
And we, whose haul is next,
sit with him under the tree
and watch his knowledge burn.
All he thought: like an encyclopaedia.
All he imagined: like a storybook.
All he was: like a library.
About this poem
This poem, representing Ivory Coast, is part of The Written World – our collaboration with BBC radio to broadcast a poem from every single nation competing in London 2012.
