Christ has been done to death
in the cold reaches of northern Europe
a thousand thousand times.
and cheese appear on a plate
beside a gleaming pewter beaker of beer.
Now tell me that the Holy Ghost
does not reside in the play of light
A Woman makes lace,
with a moist-eyed spaniel lying
at her small shapely feet.
Even the maid with the chamber pot
is here; the naughty, red-cheeked girl. . . .
And the merchant's wife, still
in her yellow dressing gown
at noon, dips her quill into India ink
with an air of cautious pleasure.
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Dutch Interiors by Jane Kenyon )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley
- Ideals, Somanathan Iyer
- That's Racist, Lawrence S. Pertillar
- The best I could do, Somanathan Iyer
- A Confidence Born Of Grace, John deVries
- HAIKU...The Wizard of Ice, Ken e Hall
- Beautiful, Asit Kumar Sanyal
- Landscapes Of Rhythm, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
- Sonnet To My Farewell, Randy McClave
- Own duty, gajanan mishra
- Oligochaeta, John deVries