Serenity

Right at the weir in the river
the water in the early morning is pitch black,
the scenery around me etched rock hard
without human conversation, the silence folds over me

and when the first twilight comes, African red-knobbed coots lift
screaming form the water,
while the sun drive off the night
white-faced ducks whistles notes stretching out long

there’s an untouched purity,
a type of freedom everywhere around me,
as if everything for a moment hangs in time:

I am speechless for moments
in astonishment before the day comes overwhelming,
before it flowers open in a burning sun.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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