Runes • Nature • Serengeti
Poem in the voice of mother nature, the Serengeti, about the majestic, cyclical migration of the wildebeest.

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	Serengeti June and my short-grass plains have come to wither, Willing the wildebeest to the northwest, Along my mighty Mbalageti River, As the ruttish bulls mate the cows in conquest. July and the herd heads northeast with the rain, Leaving my Candelabra tree canopy, To cross my Grumeti crocodile domain, As the Colobus monkeys leap tree to tree. August and the movement is to the north, Into my Maasai Mara rolling expanse, Where the lions await the feast coming forth, And the giraffe uphold their impressive stance. November and the wet season starts to swell, Drawing the drove south through the Acacia morn, Past my rocky outcrops where the hyrax dwell, While the wind whistles through my ant-eaten thorn. February and my short-grass plains are lush, For the wildebeest calves to take a first stand, Chancing the cheetah won't come in with a rush, Maturing to join the migration so grand.

Runes • Nature • SerengetiPoem in the voice of mother nature, the Serengeti, about the majestic, cyclical migration of the wildebeest.