O the small wind is frigid and spare <br />and bright in the dim light and bare <br />as wide as God's merciful boon <br />the veld lies in starlight and gloom <br />and on the high lands <br />spread through burnt bands <br />the grass-seed, astir, is like beckoning hands. <br /> <br />O East-wind gives mournful measure to song <br />Like the lilt of a lovelorn lass who's been wronged <br />In every grass fold <br />bright dewdrop takes hold <br />and promptly pales to frost in the cold!<br /><br />Eugene Marais<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/winter-s-night-5/
