I See A Small Shack Poem by Gert Strydom

with pumpkins and rock
on the tinplate roof
to keep it in place.

There's fog hanging over the marsh
and the croaking of frogs
comes forth like a choir.

I smell rain
that suddenly is falling on the outside
and the smell rises from the red brown dust,
and I see thunderbolts
drawing blue lines
and I am well sheltered
against wind and rain

and around me
the maize fields are green
and I have found my own little Eden.