Pioneer Dwelling Poem by Gert Strydom

Against the wall a lantern is burning
and the wick is turned high
making it flame brightly
and the thatched roof farmhouse

is cosy on this cold winter night,
the big old family bible is folded close,
there’s a fire of hardwood in the fireplace
burning red hot

and the dim half-light
draws shadows over the rows of portraits
hanging in the passage
and some of the drops

of the rain shower that suddenly falls
(unusual for this time of year)
hiss on the coals
while a lightning bolt falls blue-white on the outside

and there’s tranquillity
that you only find on a farm
while the frog choir sings outside
and the night is getting darker and darker.