Ballad Of Those That Adore Poem by Gert Strydom

(in answer to N.P. Van Wyk Louw)

Our love came to perfection,
between twelve o'clock and half past one,
I was speechless with the perfect woman
and now at daybreak tenderness sweeps me along.

At twelve o'clock you were my driving force,
when you looked into my soul and my eyes,
feather-light glided over the dancing-hall
like the most beautiful woman looked to me.

A quarter past twelve your breath against me was cool,
I was caught against your slender body,
I felt you firm and soft against me,
while in a moment we hanged in bliss.

Music played like guitar chords,
your eyes were big in wonder,
against my breast the bow of your hair
and softly I kissed you at the spur of the moment.

On a new morning you turn my life around,
love asks more: it brings a greater thirst,
you do remain wonderful although I am stupid with love:
you are a white lily in the rubbish of the world.
[Reference: "Ballade van die nagtelike ure" (Ballad of the nightly hours) by N.P. Van Wyk Louw.]
© Gert Strydom