Mosi-oa-Tunya - by
The last place for a waterfall, no mountains or valleys,
/ horizons flat as summer seas, then from thirty miles,
/ a white tower…
The last place for a waterfall, no mountains or valleys,
/ horizons flat as summer seas, then from thirty miles,
/ a white tower…
So hushed, so hot, the broad Zambesi lies
/ Above the Falls, and on her weedy isles
/ Swing antic monkeys swarm malignant…
Half doun the hill, whaur fa’s the linn
Far frae the flaught o’ fowk,
I saw upon a lanely whin
A lanely singin’ gowk