I’ve lived for years in desolate places
Where white men only in extremis go,
On narrow strips past which broad rivers flow,
Reflecting only the jungle’s green spaces.

In charge of lepers with ravaged faces,
I’ve married a black beauty, though
I can scarcely walk; I dream occasionally:
Skate lithely with Frisian lovers through snow.

There’s nothing more here to disturb my life
But plagues of mosquitoes and bugs in the plants
And sometimes vague hate for my native shires,

Regret I made mischief, but started no fires
That I tortured them, but spared them the knife;
Apart from that, though, I relish life’s brief dance.