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| 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 | Those round rolling hills that once hid my ancestors' hut those strong mighty trees under whose limbs my fathers idled away their warm noondays those hills those trees are gone away that mountain Nimba dark mysterious heavy clutched between her bosom countless years of Afric's strength those thundering rocks passing passing away their strong muscles mercilessly cooked into watery flesh frozen they are brutally hammered into shapes patterns they are molded and molded more and more Nimba's leafy shades dangling high shall be no more no more will she protect us from the brilliant sun no more provide resting place for birds the lions find no rocks to scratch their itching backs the rocks are gone gone into the shadowy future the rocks like the sun set in the west. |
Khasu, Kona. “The Rolling Hills.” The Seeds of Time: A Collection of Poems. Mimeographed typescript. Monrovia, 1971. 1–2.
| Line | Typescript | Changed to |
| 29 | they are moded | they are molded |
