As If In A World Of Her Own Poem by Gert Strydom

As if in a world of her own,
she is busy spreading feed for the chickens,
watching the mother hen
with its outstretched wings, guiding the chicks

walk over to her vegetable garden
turn a hosepipe on, starts watering
watching the emerging blooms of spring
but her mind is ravaged with ennui,

as if nothing can get her past the boring life,
not even the crowing brown and black cock,
the small dog that follows her everywhere
and she walks and works as if in

a long studied, long settled act
feeling anonymous, as if nothing in life
has the ability to make it worth living
and not even the baking sun

stroking her soft skin with tenderness,
the dew glistening on some leaves
in this early part of day, the busy bees,
the fluttering butterflies, the cooing doves

has an impact on her and she frowns
against the sharp light of the sun,
does not even think of her children,
they have all perished

in some or other way,
like her farmer husband
who loved her in his kind of way
and could no longer stay

and now everything just drags on and on
with never ending duties to perform
and she has solitude, no serenity
only experiences loneliness.