The Fog On The Hillocks Melts Away Poem by Gert Strydom

The fog on the hillocks melts away,
it’s another bright sunny day
and people do not really know me
the beings beyond the stars
look down at me and cannot properly
make up their minds
if I am living like a saint, or sinner
or is a little bit of both,
the smell of smoke from the train,
and the nearby black township
is on the air
but the light wind blows it away

and the flowers in the garden
all smile up at me, as if delighted
to have my company
and nothing really threatens,
the heaven is blue above me
and at night the stars sparkle invitingly
are drawing me to a world,
a place in the beyond
where my dear father waits
and everything is clear, lovely and sunny
without pain or regret
and nothing bad besets anyone.


(In Answer to Sylvia Plath/Reference: Sheep in Fog by Sylvia Plath.)