(after D. J. Opperman)
My whole family and I
did pick corn-cobs
from our own field
and we carried them in our hands
and being hungry
our need was great.
At the old oak tree we stripped them
did heap up wood and coal
and cooked them in the old big three legged pot
on a jolly fired that smoked joyfully
while we rested
and did sate our hunger.
Later when we did arrive at the homestead
there were people from everywhere,
people from town and every rich neighbour
with a pastor as their leader
to point us the way out of scripture
with some impudent and headstrong
who broke down our house to its last bricks
and what was left they wanted to set alight
and totally out of control
they wanted to convert us back to the day of God
until a stranger opened the Book
to where the disciples of God did stretch out their hands to the wheat,
at a distance the Lamb stood waiting
and the visitors did not even notice His presence.
[Reference: "Sondag van ‘n kind" (Sunday of a child) by D. J. Opperman.]
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem