Death is the most hurtful thing.
when it crawls through shades of black
It crosses skies Navy blue
off to catch next mornings dew.
As Autumn lingered ,how silent he
came late March with careful
knock on his door for him to open
The thought of cipher tears drown
in that sad melody blown through,
winter's icy cold breeze, still cripples me
When all I'll have then is distant
but all is well
for sometimes one must cross
the troubled waters of my
fair town Ladysmith
And how I wish...
how I wish the fresh gale of
spring will not only blow the tear away
but bring happiness to stay..
© Thandeka Mthembu