The Marsh Poem by Gert Strydom

Barefoot at times I walk through the marsh,
having to dodge plovers
diving down at me,
widow-birds are trying to draw my attention

with long tails that looks
as if they are too heavy to fly
and in the reeds something is moving
as if some animal is hiding there

and when I come closer
a water monitor
comes out hissing
hitting challenging with its tail

and everywhere yellow and read finches
are flying around
the oaks are full of wooing doves
and there’s a wild cat
looking down from a tree.