Poem by Roy Campbell 1902-1957
I love to see, when leaves depart, The clear anatomy arrive, Winter, the paragon of art, That kills all forms of life and feeling Save what is pure and will survive.
Already now the clanging chains Of geese are harnessed to the moon:
Stripped are the great sun-clouding planes: And the dark pines, their own revealing, Let in the needles of the noon.
Strained by the gale the olives whiten Like hoary wrestlers bent with toil
And, with the vines, their branches lighten To brim our vats where summer lingers In the red froth and sun-gold oil.
Soon on our hearth's reviving pyre Their rotted stems will crumble up:
And like a ruby, panting fire, The grape will redden on your fingers
Through the lit crystal of the cup.
A couple of my friends and I teamed up this weekend to update my book.
A lot of fun was had and we were really happy with the results!
Model: Klaudia Dedekind (me), Photography: Reynier Van Zyl, Styling: Betina Louw, Make Up: Sam Wickham (Faith Models)

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