Three Kinds Of Solitude Poem by Charl JF Cilliers

The day was quiet, still bright
as we stood by the hut, at the door:

we had been following the light
down the path that led to the shore

where it seemed that his singing was drawing
the evening in from the sea,

that song I had once learned to sing
that was no longer singing in me.

Without thinking I reached for your hand
and went down on my knees on the sand:

only darkness knelt with me there,
for your heart was looking elsewhere.