I had, for reasons of expediency
done all my chores, took out the files
to weed old wisdom and the silverfish
out of my life, it had been overdue.
Thus, time ran out and slammed the hollow door,
taking all pens and pencils, every one
I, in my youthful drive to clean the slate
had shredded all remaining paper. It was done.
The poem I was set to write for you, it must
wait for another time, perhaps you're fine to wait?
Meanwhile may I present a little treat today:
One hundred hectares, yes, a sea of tulip kisses,
guarded by windmills and a dike not made from clay.
You'll get to meet Hans Brinker, all in stone
and see the fossil of his clever finger bone.
And while you count in Dutch the tulips in the sea,
I'll write a lovely limerick for you, from little me.
Oh, the lucky lady to receive such a gift from your pen, Herbert. Lovely. Raynette
Thanks Theo, always nice to see you dropp in. You are only 8 that would explain that you are not sure what to make of this. To gain more insight my poem The Frigate Bird From My Past would be a wise choice. Best H
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Theo, we best go to the private mailbox as you know the weirdo convict may be looking in.Thanks for your kind words, you and Raynette are the right age and the right class leading part of society. Yes the lady may be a lucky lady (she could have been luckier though elsewhere?) and she is one of my wives.: --)) H