There’s a pretty lady
dressed in pitch black
that passes
with two angry spotted dogs
that groans and barks the whole time
and step after step I have to take
but wanted to jog past
the widow Viljee,
but the dogs want to pull loose
and then I had to walk by slowly
and greet her)
and I wonder why she is crying
or did sand
blow into her eyes?
She walks for miles
armed with a staff
with a blade like a sword
on that holy day
to lose her soul at the sea
or maybe to find it?
[Reference: Met apologie (With apology) by D.J. Opperman.]
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem