I think back to a childhood day,
I see the thunder branching in its brilliant ray
before it bashes down blue-white
and in the rain the dirt track is a sight,
where a woman runs with a child on her back, do fear display,
her headscarf flutters like a flag
and the child falls and by the hand she does him drag
while the flooding river at a low-bridge do bar the way,
I see the thunder branching in its brilliant ray.
© Gert Strydom
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem