The Hunt Plays On Poem by Jinge Norvall

As the sun closes his weary eyes
And the stars begin to blink
The steadfast hills are sombre
As they exhume the souls of the dead.
The Bushman has not died,
And his quarry still flees on
For they dwell in the secret shadow
Of the realm of the living dead.
The Statesman has not expired
His gaze not been put out
And though his grave is granite-stone
He dwells in the breath of the land.
Listen with your spirit,
To the tune that plays on the wind
Look with a watchful soul, and see
The hunt that still plays on..
For in this place of timelessness
Where an eon is no more than a day
This land still speaks to the living
And harbours the souls of the dead.