When The Rain Falls For Days Without End Poem by Gert Strydom

and I lie on a Sunday morning nurturing in your arms,
while lightning sounds far away in the distance
then in the cosiness I want nothing different
and then I feel your breath soft and hot against my cheek,
while a few doves coo peacefully outside,
and I notice roses with their flowers full of water hanging lower
when the sun time after time peeps furtively.
On a day as this there is a kind of rest
that lingers right through the house and nature
and when I kiss you soft upon your lips
a scene of love plays like something from an age-old story
while I smell jasmine and gardenia on the wind
when your soft hand finds mine.