Angel Poem by Gert Strydom

Incinerated angel
who died loving me
the moon still at times
shines yellow, romantically

the waves still kiss the beach
where once you left tracks
with your fingers twisted through mine

the sun still rises in a flaming ball
with magic at dawn
where once you declared
that there is abundance of beauty
caught in its early rays

and my days are lingering on
as if I am alone in the world
while you are gone.