Secret Spying 02.09.2009 Poem by Margaret Alice

Playtime when I was eight or nine
changed me into an old Anglo Boer
War spy; I stood on cut tree trunk
and spied my fingers over my eyes

When the bell rang I ran to my post
for reconnaissance on the tree trunk
turned slowly looking at plants, the
rising hillside for encroaching enemies

All too soon the bell rang returning us
to a stuffy classroom, I all smug and
satisfied with my secret spying from
a book I was reading at the time


I was reading HJ Vermaas “Oë Oor Die
Einders” [= “Eyes On The Horizon”]