The babe of Witwatersrand basin;
Golden in nature, priceless in substance
Like a fruit plucked from the mystic sun.
Your skin, the sand wave of Sahara,
Still has the kiss of the rising sun.
Even when the moon wax and wane,
You stand as the embodiment of the compelling spheres,
And the myriad of stars adore you.
Sapa’s field and Sherwood Forest lift their glad voice at your presence.
Sands of Atacama Desert flourish in green at your sight.
Your laughter echoes on Gangkhar Puensum Mountain;
Tender in rhythm, sweet in rhyme
Like a wind chime pierced from the pregnant cloud.
Though your breast, a peach tree on a summer,
Yet your eyes, the dewdrops, sparkle in the morning sunlight.
Even the beautiful cannas flower,
Blossoming in chateau potelle vineyard declares “imaka”.
Of thy grandeur and upon thy beauty,
You are the musical ring of a flowing spring,
And we are your bright summertime.