Tuesday, 15 July 2014

Another Bloem poem


The summer night will soon pale into morning; 
As yet no trace of light invades the skies.
Only the rain’s small voice before the dawning
That at my open window sighs.

Though bed was sought to ease life’s long chastising
By one who longs for sleep when earth confines,
I seem to feel a lighter joy arising
Because the moon so brightly shines.

Oh restlessness on days when sun is hateful, 
Oh roads on which one suffers dust’s fierce bite,
Who after lethargy and fear would not feel grateful
At such a perfect light? 

All that I have withheld while life was calling,
A yearning without form and without name,
Has now turned into warm rain that is falling  
Outside a silver pane.

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