Wind (Italian Sonnet) Poem by Gert Strydom

It was a sunny day with the sky a dull-blue
at the begging of a September spring
with the wind of a winter August not yet ending.
Normally we made a kite with newspaper, some glue

and reeds and your grown children came with their own retinue
on that sunny Sunday, bought at the traffic light something,
that could be constructed into a huge flying wing
and when it was supposed to lift off they did argue

while in the piece of veldt near an electric mast
we were looking at the very small wild flowers,
felt the wind brushing through our hair
while your daughter in law waited alone like a outcast
and I was sure that later there would be some rain showers
while that kite did not take to the air.