I Was A Skinny Child Poem by Gert Strydom

I was a skinny child
in short shirt and pants,
who walked blonde through the ploughed fields,
feeling the soft lumps breaking beneath my feet,

whirling through the orchard,
looking through the ink black window at the stars,
watching the golden moon for some time
while wondering when the doves will stop cooing,

while that life with the ringing of the clock
was slowly ticking to an end
and everything now is so much different,
in a world almost without meaning.