Poetry

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How can such a rock
Move me so?
It seems so much more
Than a mere rock
It is a constant mountain
With an ever-changing face

On summer nights
That stretch out like a languid yawn
It is painted by the setting sun
As Cape Town’s crown
In 9 o’clock gold

And the morning mist
Curls up at its feet
So that the mountain stands
Like a watchful father
Guarding his restless children

As I sit here now
It is dappled in shadows
A strong grey mount
Against a piercing sky
Made up with brilliant clouds

Other days I find it
Wrapped in a white shawl
That pours over its shoulders
It steels itself
Against the winter chill

Regardless of its face, it is always strength
With the city stretched out at its feet
A symbol of God’s power
Unaffected by man’s
Petty attempts to claim it

I see my God in that mountain
Standing majestic over the city
Immovable, beautiful, radiant
And yet it is just a mountain
My God is the one who spoke its existence
And in its nature, it gives Him glory.

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