(after P. J. Philander)
Early in the evening I lock the cold out at the door,
the heater burns bright red in room,
almost like rain snow-snippets fall against the window,
outside the entire world is white, icy and pretty,
while the chilly snow with wind do cover everything,
the dogs at the neighbour do complain sorrowful,
it's so chilly that I put some more clothes on
while outside the neighbours do carry parcels from their car,
when suddenly ominous a thunderbolt bashes down,
the lights flicker and then suddenly do go out,
I light a candle and shadows do fall over the wall,
mimicking me as something without a head,
the wax melts and drips down,
and without power the coldness does sneak more and more into the house.
[Reference: "Wingeraand" (Winter-night)by P. J. Philander.]
© Gert Strydom
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