While I Dig In The Garden

While I dig in the garden I think about you
when I hold flowers on their stems,
sometimes I walk into your paintings,
while I am wondering how you fit into my life
and still it is as if something of you clings to me.

There’s a white jersey belonging to you in my cupboard
that reminds me and like your eyes the sky is blue
and in due time the works is getting more difficult
while I dig in the garden.

I draw on my shirt’s sleeve,
am wondering if you still like me,
when feelings are touching my heart,
I see the first raindrops splashing down,
how drops glitter like dew,
while I dig in the garden.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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