Mist Poem by Gert Strydom

Mist fades the sun out
and houses are blocked off
by smoky rain clouds,
but the yellow iris flowers pure
and the air smells fresh
as if I am kissed by nature.

There’s wet drops on the grass
and the two dogs
lie under the shelter
on there beds
hardly wanting to move.

A vague delight unfolds within me
while I walk through the garden
lost and locked into a own world
and see the sun almost looking
like the moon
where it hangs white and laced off.