It was very early in the morning <br />when old Jafta waked me and Mieta up <br />as we did ask to travel with him <br />to the milk depot. <br /> <br />We sat together on the donkey cart <br />with our shoulder pressing against each other’s <br />under the sheepskin blanket <br />while the milk cans were bumping and knocking <br />against each other <br />and we were glad that we came <br />on this trip <br /> <br />and the twilight was still grey <br />and we could not really see the road <br />that was meandering through the hillocks <br />on a slope down to the railway depot <br /> <br />and we held tightly onto the milk cans <br />and giggled and talked so much <br />that Jafta had to ask us <br />to have a little respect for his old ears. <br /> <br />In joyfulness like only children can experience <br />we carried the heavy milk-cans to the depot <br />while Jafta was still sitting on the donkey-cart <br />and we drew circles on the cement <br />and played hop-scotch <br />until the sun was rising in the east <br /> <br />and old Jafta called us <br />to come and have some of the breakfast <br />that grandma had packed in <br />and we took hands <br />while Jafta said a prayer <br />and in silence we ate vetkoek <br />and had some tea from the flask <br /> <br />and I observed that Jafta was growing old <br />and the crow-tracks under Jafta’s eyes were deeper <br />and the lines around his mouth was set <br />and his hair had turned to grey <br />and I wondered if he had grown old <br />by all of the waiting on the milk-train?<br /><br />Daleen Enslinstrydom<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-the-donkey-cart/
