There’s A Time That The Sun Sets Poem by Gert Strydom

There’s a time
that the sun sets
and it’s also
how life goes.

My dad read the last time
the poem that let the hairs
on my arms raise
of a horse
with a rider without a head
like only he can

and when I was naughty
the man with the hat and jacket came
and never again
and later I find it hanging
in his wardrobe.

Red-brown lumps fall on a wooden chest
and what does a toddler know
of final farewell,

except that the sun sets
over the hillock
on the other side of the place
where he lies.