Stormy (Italian Sonnet) Poem by Gert Strydom

With pouring rain as many other days,
with clouds in the sky the sun seems dead,
as if for weeks from the earth it has fled
where of it there is not even a small trace,

yet radiant with smiling beauty are your face,
where very few words between us is said,
where against each other we lie in our bed
and with a own music the rain outside plays,

where here we are in a hot and happy home,
outside in the pine forest the wind does not rest,
while very turbulent is the surging of the deep,
where in tempest the ocean does break and foam,
with you right here hot and tender it seems best,
where our love and promises to each other we keep.

© Gert Strydom