The Early Twilight Is Slowly Falling Poem by Gert Strydom

We see a myriad of hungry pigeons
circumventing the lawns of the park
while the early twilight is slowly falling
and cars and pickups draw red lines in the dark.

Your right hand feels hot in mine
while we walk talking on the promenade
and beneath us is the crushing breaking sea
while the city lies in the early night shade.

Moments linger as we embrace and our lips meet
while with you my life is content and sweet.