I Had To Forsake The World Of My Childhood Poem by Gert Strydom

The cat tells me
that its time for its food
and outside bees
still fly past in a swarm

and I realise that it’s late afternoon,
that the shadows are drawing long lines,
the wind rustles through the tree branches
and it’s already almost cold
as the winter is coming.

Still there’s something in the late autumn
that catches me
where here and there leaves
hang like dots on tree branches,

that the sun sometimes still gives hot rays
as if it does not really want
the cold to come
and the grass is still green
like in the summer.