The past is another country; quite literally in my case, that country being Swaziland. My memory paid an unexpected visit to that other country this morning and returned with a poem I wrote when I was about twelve:

Swaziland, land of mountains and mist.
Swaziland, land of legends and myth.
Deep in the heart of the African wild,
Lies Swaziland, Africa's child.

Strong as the elephant travelling in herds,
Bright as a diamond, free as a bird.
Her symbol, the lion, stands tall and proud,
To the mighty king, let us all shout aloud:

"Bayethe!" shout I, shout one, and shout all,
"Bayethe!" again, for the king, proud and tall.
The fields, the rivers, the mountains, the air,
"Bayethe!" again, for Swaziland so fair.

And when I depart,
I shall leave all of my heart
Deep in that heart of the African wild,
In Swaziland, Africa's child.