In a dry and a weary land.
Amidst prickles in the jungle
We planted our wills
With little or no hope of viability
Yet we harboured our dreams.
With no hope of Sustainability,
Yet we preserved the lives,
Handed to us by our ancestors.
Blessed by our creators.
Amidst prickles we grew our wills.
With so much pain, without gain.
Yet with an aim to win the game.
Though pain stained our flesh,
We kept our reign afresh.