Patterns of dust and wild musk roses,
Its traces invisible but yet so alive;
Its cool touch so uncommiserate come chilling winter;
So welcoming come ardent summer.

Throughout the land, streaming between bush and tree,
And over the rising mountain tops so unconcerned and carefree.
It waits for no one and has no end,
No beginning, no middle - the havoc it reeks, it will not mend.

It rose one day from a purple cascade,
Of rock and of stone, over a gentle blockade.
It sought out the land and the land welcomed it,
And together vowed friendship,
That left the land stripped.

Through gullies and rivers,
Through rock and knoll,
Its invisible patterns took a startling toll.
Years of erosion left the marred countryside,
And left the land to the pact’s mercy,
And victim to the wind’s lie.