Song Of Songs [1] Poem by Gert Strydom

My golden eye darling of the high-veldt
I see the sand crumbling between your fingers
where you are planting geraniums and day lilies.

Look, my bride, I have brought you tiger-lily bulbs,
also bulbs of dahlias and amaryllis
and white and red roses, which I have grown from cuttings

as cut flowers does just keep for a day or two
and I want to give you something that can last
even when destiny does throw us around.

Look, my fawn, my girlfriend and my wife
how the wind blows that the dust devils dance
and how tawny and stripped our yard looks in this winter
but I know that the spring will come again.
Look, the pruned roses are growing again,
there are already buds on the peach
and apricot trees.
Look, how the clouds do turn and whirl
as if they want to bring the early rain.

With you I will eat porridge and brown bread,
will work free in the sweat of my countenance,
even will forget the children and life that is shaking its fist at me
and forget all of the ugly things of life

as I do love you dearly my golden eye wife.