There Are Blue-Gum Trees That Rise Poem by Gert Strydom

There are blue-gum trees that rise
where now just some of the stones are left,
next to a big old burned down house
and I am gripped by the sad story,

do walk into the remains, the ruin,
do notice that it had been a lovely round double storey
where still some black marks are visible and some spider webs
and at a time it was carefully tended

where now it is pillaged,
stripped of window frames and glass
when suddenly a grown snake hisses at me
as if it does fit neatly into the rubbish

and I wonder why life does sometimes
throw twists without any chance of deliverance?

© Gert Strydom