This page is dedicated to poetry about Ethiopia.

a prayer for our baby’s mother
keely leim
april, 2006

a country’s rich tradition knows no shame
except the poverty that binds her there.
her baby’s tender age of just four weeks
is no protection from the world’s despair.

the famine spreading all throughout the land
now takes her husband, no distinction makes
between the strong, the weak, the rich or poor.
without the rain, the famine spreads and breaks

this mother’s heart, so she decides to give
this tiny babe another love’s embrace
to bless another home with treasure dear
across the sea, beyond her own disgrace.

when darkness falls, she leaves her on the step
and starts to go but hears her baby’s cry,
returns to hold her one last time before
she leaves and hopes her prayers find God’s reply.

across the sea another mother knows
she owes her family to this selflessness
such sacrifice familiar to her heart
in Savior’s words, “love has no more than this.”

O Lord, as long as she has breath, draw near.
protect her, shield her from this poverty.
this woman whose own child will now be mine,
this baby whose own heart will beat with me.

Deeper than Most Eyes Can See
by Kelsey S.

A beautiful mother
Deep pain set in her eyes
Holds her baby close,
as she bears his hungry cries

She bows her head and asks,
"LORD what can I do?
My baby will not live,
unless we find some food"

Her heart breaks to see
Her little one's condition
And out of love, this mother
makes a desperate decision

She only wants the best
For her precious baby boy
A life free of hunger,
and full of love and joy

Her eyes gaze down upon
His malnourished little face
Time stops as she brings him near
her heart for an embrace

She whispers "Know forever,
That you are loved and cherished
I will think of you continually,
until the day I perish"

She's trying to stay strong
But her lip begins to quiver
She wraps the baby in a shirt,
and walks down toward the river

She picks a spot of land
Careful not to make a sound
And sets her baby down,
where she knows he will be found

She bends down near her child's cheek
And gives him one last kiss
All the while grieving,
the life that she would miss

She retreats back down the road
Careful not to look behind
For she knows that if she hesitates,
she just might change her mind

God has been watching
Her prayers are not in vain
He knows exactly how it feels
to see your son in pain

God has plans for this baby
"Plans to prosper, not to harm
To give him hope and a future",
safe in a mother's arms

A woman has arrived
To fetch water for the day
She sees the tiny baby,
and carries him away

The woman tries to care for him
But it's clear this boy needs more
A few days later he arrives
at the Bete Sa'ida doors

The nannies really love him
And help him start to heal
The baby learns what it is like
to be fed at every meal

He is loved at the orphanage
But the staff cannot replace
The gift of waking up
to see your dad and mommy's face

Another mom across the globe
Has begun to pray
God's placed adoption on her heart;
she knows she must obey

The love felt for this little boy
That she has yet to meet
Convinces her that 'till he's home,
her family's not complete

The day finally comes
A mom united with her child
A pure and perfect love is felt;
he looks at her and smiles

These two mothers share a bond
Deeper than most eyes can see
They love this baby more than life,
and want him to succeed

His brand new mommy knows
That he's a gift from God above
She promises to raise him well,
and shower him with love

He is a living miracle
A sweet loving little boy
Jesus shines right through him
as he fills a home with joy

ETHIOPIA Lyrics
Artist: Joni Mitchell

Hot winds and hunger cries–Ethiopia "Flies in your babies' eyes–Ethiopia
Walking sticks on burning plains
Betrayed by politics
Abandoned by the rains
On and on–the human need
On and on–the human greed profanes

Ethiopia–Ethiopia–Ethiopia
Your top soil flies away–Ethiopia
We pump ours full of poison spray–Ethiopia
Between the brown skies and sprinkling lawns
I hear the whine of chain saws
Hacking rain forests down
On and on–insanities
On and on–Short sighted greed abounds

Ethiopia–Ethiopia-Ethiopia Little garden planet-oasis in space Some hearts hurt–they can hardly stand it
Famine phantoms at the garden gates

Ethiopia–Ethiopia–Ethiopia
Every Sunday on T.V.–Ethiopia
You suffer with such dignity–Ethiopia
A T.V. star with a P.R. smile
Calls your baby "it" while strolling
Through your tragic trials
On and on–stupidity
On and on–the basic needs are defiled
Good air–good water–good earth

Ethiopia–Ethiopia–Ethiopia
Little garden planet–oasis in space
Some hearts hurt–they can hardly stand the waste

Ethiopia–Ethiopia—Ethiopia

Ethiopia-Saluting the Colors
By Walt Whitman
c. 1900

Who are you, dusky woman, so ancient, hardly human,
With your woolly-white and turban’d head, and bare bony feet?
Why, rising by the roadside here, do you the colors greet?
’Tis while our army lines Carolina’s sand and pines,

Forth from thy hovel door, thou, Ethiopia, com’st to me,
As, under doughty Sherman, I march toward the sea.
Me, master, years a hundred, since from my parents sunder’d,
A little child, they caught me as the savage beast is caught;

Then hither me, across the sea, the cruel slaver brought.
No further does she say, but lingering all the day,
Her high-borne turban’d head she wags, and rolls her darkling eye,
And curtseys to the regiments, the guidons moving by.

What is it, fateful woman—so blear, hardly human?
Why wag your head, with turban bound—yellow, red and green?
Are the things so strange and marvelous, you see or have seen?

Ode to Ethiopia.
Paul Laurence Dunbar, 1896

O MOTHER Race! to thee I bring
This pledge of faith unwavering,
This tribute to thy glory.
I know the pangs which thou didst feel,
When Slavery crushed thee with its heel,
With thy dear blood all gory.
Sad days were those–ah, sad indeed!
But through the land the fruitful seed
Of better times was growing.
The plant of freedom upward sprung,
And spread its leaves so fresh and young–
Its blossoms now are blowing.
On every hand in this fair land,
Proud Ethiope's swarthy children stand
Beside their fairer neighbor;
The forests flee before their stroke,
Their hammers ring, their forges smoke,–
They stir in honest labour.
They tread the fields where honour calls;
Their voices sound through senate halls
In majesty and power.
To right they cling; the hymns they sing
Up to the skies in beauty ring,
And bolder grow each hour.
Be proud, my Race, in mind and soul;
Thy name is writ on Glory's scroll
In characters of fire.
High 'mid the clouds of Fame's bright sky
Thy banner's blazoned folds now fly,
And truth shall lift them higher.
Thou hast the right to noble pride,
Whose spotless robes were purified
By blood's severe baptism.
Upon thy brow the cross was laid,
And labour's painful sweat-beads made
A consecrating chrism.
No other race, or white or black,
When bound as thou wert, to the rack,
So seldom stooped to grieving;
No other race, when free again,
Forgot the past and proved them men
So noble in forgiving.
Go on and up! Our souls and eyes
Shall follow thy continuous rise;
Our ears shall list thy story
From bards who from thy root shall spring,
And proudly tune their lyres to sing
Of Ethiopia's glory.

SOLDIERS IN ETHIOPIA
By Nicolas Guillen
Cuba, 1937

Mussolini
chin in hand.
On the table
Africa
crucified, bloodless
in green, black, white, and blue
geography on a map. A finger, son of Caesar's
pierces the continent.
The rivers of paper
say nothing,
nor the deserts of paper,
nor the cities of paper
where a finger, son of Caesar's
with a bloody fingernail
claws over an
Ethiopia
of paper. Hell of a fine pirate
this Mussolini
with his face so hard
and his hands so long!
Ethiopia buckles,
arches its back,
cries aloud,
rages,
protests.
Il Duce!
Soldiers.
War.
Ships. Mussolini in his automobile
takes his morning ride.
Mussolini on horseback
takes his afternoon exercise.
Mussolini in an airplane
flies from city to city,
so fast he makes your head swim.
Mussolini bathed, fresh, clean,
Mussolini happy
and intent. Ah, but his soldiers
stumbling and falling–
his soldiers
who do not make their trips on a map
but instead on the earth of Africa,
under an African sun,
finding no cities of paper–
for their cities are something more
that dots that speak
with the little green voices of topography!
Their cities are
anthills of bullets
and the barking of machine guns
and a cane field of spears. Thus, the soldiers– who do not make their trips on a map–
the soldiers
far away from Mussolini,
alone,
his soldiers,
burning up in the desert,
grow ever smaller and smaller.
His soldiers–
slowly baking in the sun.
His soldiers–
mixed with the excrement
of buzzards–
his soldiers.