As if catching the early pink rays of the sun
to retain it until the day of death on their bodies
and also the shining black of the night on their wings
lined up thin as gnats in the brightening east
the flamingos do file up while they burrow and fidget
in the shallow water in a glorious beautiful moment
as if they are catching the echo of the morning
while flaming the day does change to being brighter still.
© Gert Strydom
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem