You Walk Where The Golden-Brown Grass Rustles Poem by Gert Strydom

You Walk Where The Golden-Brown Grass Rustles



You walk where the grass
rustle golden-brown in the wind,
and sometimes you take a shortcut through the cornfield,
sometimes it's at the marsh where I find you,
where you smile shyly.

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Gert Strydom

Gert Strydom

Johannesburg, South Africa
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