The Hills of Ixopo

There is a lovely road that runs from Ixopo into the hills
These hills are grass covered and rolling
And they are lovely beyond any singing of it
About you there is grass and bracken
And you may hear the forlorn crying of the titihoya bird
The grass of the veld is rich and matted
You cannot see the soil
The grass holds the rain and mist
They seep into the ground
Feeding the streams in ev’ry clove
The clove is cool, and green
And lovely beyond any singing of it
But sing now about the lower hills.
Where you stand the grass is rich and matted
But th rich green hills break down
They fall to the vally below
And falling change
For they grow red and bare
They cannot hold the rain and mist
The streams run dry in the cloves
Too many cattle feed on the grass
It is not kept or guarded or cared for
It no longer keeps men, guards men, cares for men
The titihoya cries here no more