Hail Poem by Gert Strydom
Hail
There are white bullets
falling from a blue sky
and blossoms, leaves on branches
and car roofs
are hit into smithereens
or carry signs of hail,
that descends bigger than golf balls
like rifle shots.
Like the retaliation of a woman
that appears merciless out of the blue
and crackles down
in spite of damage to herself
circling out wider.
Thursday, July 21, 2011
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4/24/2024 7:51:41 PM # 1.0.0.1119
