When The Stranger Was Passing Poem by Gert Strydom

When the stranger was passing
with the rays of the late afternoon sun on him
she did looking at him
and somewhat astonished

did recognize him from her younger days
and there was a kind of meaning
that splashed down in the rays of the sun,
that radiated his face like that of a saint
and out of the coals that had been dead

new sparks did come to life
while she did realize that for years
she had been longing for him.