How gladly I saw the widower a sprig of roses Poem by Tonnus Oosterhoff

How gladly I saw the widower a sprig of roses*
(shears in th'other hand, he was just pruning) the lady give.

I still see how the eye, the maiden's eye moist light farewell
(by the troop-ship, by the troop-ship) had to bide farewell
bide not had to farewell bide.
Toot-toot. Farewell is. Pain a descending octave.

(Each tear was one in butter ration room temperature Holland.)

Were I to return in this flesh, the body full
(Two, three minutes out of time, life no regret) full of plopper wounds.
I married, bred, watched tv, fire, fire, fire, fire in the sweet village.
Today I lost my passport. My wife said: ‘Here. Take better care, man.'



* With the melody of hymn 138 in mind.