Ivory

Upon the silent savannah's hush,
Where sun‑kissed grasses sway,
An elephant lifts its ancient tusk,
A column of ivory, bright as day.

Its curve recalls the moon’s soft gleam,
A whisper of forgotten dreams,
Each grain a story, smooth and stark,
A gleam that time cannot eclipse.

Yet hands that carve and polish keen
Turn nature’s gift to market’s sheen,
And in the quiet of the workshop,
The scent of dust and labour lingers.

O ivory, both prize and plea,
You bind the wild to humanity’s need—
May we remember, whilst we hold,
The living soul that gave you gold.