Down At The Fen (Cavatina) - Poem by Gert Strydom
Down at the fen small red weavers twitter,
they do frolic,
are joyous fluttering from reed to reed
while mud do stick
to my boots, as it seems impassable
and soft and thick.
Reeds grow; weeping willows give their shadow,
in a world that I do not really know.
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Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
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Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You