(after John Keats)
I heard the redbreast sing in the winter wind
while fog hanged over the lower meadows,
while the pines did swing frosted up on the hill,
and the stars seemed frozen as the mountaintops,
that spring was coming like it never has before,
while I was studying into the hours of the night,
did not know you yet as if you were far away,
while rain-swept the days were grey and dark,
that the spring would be greater than anything
and any more knowledge the bird hand not,
but its song were as warm as the coming spring,
while it kept singing that simple lovely song
but when that spring and warm summer came,
you did lovely walk straight into my own life.
[Reference:"What the Thrush said" by John Keats.]
© Gert Strydom
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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