In die Begin Was die Woord

I've been thinking of a man
Who gave me some memories,
Who thought of himself, as we
All do, as me. On his first
Visit to South Africa
To give a talk on Blombos
Cave and its eerie ochre

Parallels, I remember
He sat in an inn's garden
In Stellenbosch each morning
Listening to string quartets,
E.g., "Death and the Maiden,"
On headphones, sipping rooibos
And watching the hummingbirds.

His hostess was a widow
Who called him "The Professor,"
Which he admitted he liked,
Since no student called him that.
A Bible in Afrikaans
Was in the drawer by his bed.
Weird, but he knew what it said.