Gert Strydom

Gold Star - 29,802 Points (03 April 1964 / Johannesburg, South Africa)

Death Bed - Poem by Gert Strydom

I whish I were there
to hold my father’s hand
when the last power of life
went through him, when he struggled for words,
but couldn’t talk
and every breath was like his last.

I now see myself sitting at his bed,
wiping the sweat from his head,
adjusting the bed more comfortable
but am I am already older than him
and when I was only three
and he died, I could not say:

that I am forever his child
and that I still love him defencelessly.

Listen to this poem:

Comments about Death Bed by Gert Strydom

There is no comment submitted by members..

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Poem Submitted: Thursday, December 10, 2009

[Report Error]