Poetry

Where the heat in the grey karoo throws hazy waves
I had to stop at a time with a flat tyre
and in the karee-bushes I only noticed one sheep
while around me the ground was dusty red
but still this scene was beautiful
with a windmill turning screaming and knocking,
the other sheep drinking at a dam
and an old farm house did complete the picture.
In that desolate land I could hear the voice of God
where the scene stretched into the distance,
with only here and there a tree breaking the monotony
and there I did loose the conceit of my youth,
burned the scene into my mind before I had to leave
and felt the grass-seeds jutting into my socks.