Everything Is In God's Perfect Plan Poem by Gert Strydom

Early you phone and say: "hello my darling husband, "
your words is like a butterfly that flutters,
outside a spider is creating a web
and suddenly I see an insect that struggles.

It's the missing and longing that does torture me,
It's as if the lock-down do ban us from each other
and in my thoughts are your hair that curl.
Early you phone and say: "hello my darling husband, "

outside drops of water drip in a watering-bucket,
some birds call and one sounds like a quail
and everything is in God's perfect plan.
Your words is like a butterfly that flutters

but my cousin and I are cut from the same cloth,
he is a blood brother although we do not have the same surname.
His son is dead and what do I say while his world is falling apart?
Outside a spider is creating a web,

men who do joyfully man a rubbish-truck,
grab rubbish-bins and drag them rattling,
the neighbour is on his roof with an artisan
and suddenly I see an insect that struggles.

but it's as if life past us do whirl,
where destiny do not go along as we do plan,
that his sun is dead painfully whirl through my head
and in this time happiness comes only now and then.