It Must Have Been At The End Of January Poem by Gert Strydom

It must have been at the end of January
when the sun hanged high at seven in the afternoon,
when we walked together on the beach
and just before we kissed my eye caught a ship in the distance

Suddenly the ship disappeared
in beyond the blue ocean
but it was white and red
and the sun shone cobalt-blue in a bright sky.

That day has disappeared into oblivion
with the remembrance that constantly dwindles
and even that blonde girl I have forgotten,
even the expression on her face,

how lovely she had been,
how her lips felt and tasted,
even the hue of her eyes
I cannot bring back to my thoughts

and that woman has long been married,
with maybe a string of children
but I keep remembering that ship
as it rocks up and down on the waves.

[Reference: 'Erinnering an die Marie A' by Bertolt Brecht.]