It Isn’t Winter Poem by Gert Strydom
It Isn’t Winter
It isn’t winter that brings out
the brazing energy in me,
but the summer sun, the summer rain
the fresh earth that I wallow in
with fingers, with spade, with pickaxe
and rake scalloping the earth
in lines like a huge shell
in the womb of which is buried
the treasured seeds,
that will soon be sprouting
some into vegetables,
some into pretty flowers
giving back life and tranquillity.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/9/2024 1:06:49 AM # 1.0.0.1119
I could feel the true imaginary of the summer sun that brazes energy, it was expressed nicely. I like it.