To Be With You Find A Way I Will (Swinburne Roundel) Poem by Gert Strydom

(For Daleen, in answer to Anna Akmatova)

The time years ago that you did sent me away,
I tried blocking you out in everything that I do
but inadvertently on my knees for you I did pray.
The time years ago that you

were with me and our relationship through,
you thought: back to you I would find a way,
to stay I would weep and plead to continue.
The time years ago that you

made it clear that it was the end, poetry I did write,
I did not want you to know that missing you I do fear,
as if by words you and your actions I could smite,
made it clear

that on the phone I did not want your voice hear
and it was if every word did you back to me invite,
as if still I was telling you that to me you are dear

and the poems did you and your children very much excite:
as if a demonic spell I would incite and seal with a tear
but a shirt that you kept did you with unseen fangs bite,
made it clear

that you do truly love me still to the bottom of your heart
and on a day you returned to me, did my longing heart fill,
where you offered yourself to again be of me a part,
do truly love me still,

while tears of joy and heartfelt feelings we did that day spill
and now where we had been for far too long form each other apart,
you do truly me in every way as the loveliest woman thrill.

I swear by every kiss and touch, by the sun that does the day start,
by that blessed gift of my shirt, to be with you find a way I will.
I bless you for believing and I know you, even if destiny do us thwart,
do truly love me still.

[Poet's note:"You thought I was that type" by Anna Akmatova.I am quoting Anna Akmatova's great poem here as I think that not a lot of people do know it.

"You thought I was that type" by Anna Akmatova

"You though I was that type:
That you could forget me,
And that I'd plead and weep
And throw myself under the hooves of a bay mare,

Or that I'd ask the sorcerers
For some magic potion made from roots and send you a terrible gift:
My precious perfumed handkerchief.

Damn you! I will not grant your cursed soul
Vicarious tears or a single glance.

And I swear to you by the garden of the angels,
I swear by the miracle-working icon,
And by fire and smoke of our nights:
I will never come back to you."]
© Gert Strydom