Flaring up a candle burns, does draw lines
when you do awake,
there are patterns and dark forms
that it draws on the walls,
your eyes glitter; there is suddenly a smile
that touches me
while you do lie lithe and soft against me
and eternally I could be without movement, just like this.
© Gert Strydom
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem