An Old Man in the City

This poem was written by my mother, Beth Jordaan,  after visiting her elderly father in Johannesburg. He moved there from his Karoo farm with his second wife.

"When one is old one no longer looks up"
But the stars are still there,
not here, not in the city.
In the Karoo the nights are dark and still
and great stars quiver just out of reach.
They are so clear and so lovely
that one's heart aches with longing
just to remember them.
In the silence an owl calls
and from somewhere near the dam
sounds the melancholy whistle of the Dikkop,
the ghost bird.
The bare thorns of the mimosa
appear white and wonderful in the moonlight.
A morning in winter is crisp and clear
brittle with frost whitening the grass
and crackling underfoot,
the wind is cuttingly cold
The scent of herbs comes from the Karoo bush,
Dry hard sticks which at the first rain
draw sap from the good earth
to feed the merino herds.
In long rows sheep follow the trodden path
to the watering holes.
They drink greedily and drink again.
Then graze quietly.