TOWN AT THE WADDEN
Three islands float on the horizon
When the haze allows. Lads come and watch,
When the mail boat turns, that along the dike a
Plume of smoke lowers, pale brown before the sun.
Winters last long here; the sparse greenery
Contains a stilled winter in its branches.
And in the courtyards, quiet spaces,
Not even a murderer would a murderer be.
The threefold pavement, yellow bricks,
Coloured cobbles, blue, round stones:
Many years bearing the same bones,
Because in the evening, with the gait of quiet drinkers,
Men saunter smoking to the docks -
Along the harbour - and back to the docks.
Vertalingen en bewerking “Town at the Wadden” © 2010, Henk de Kruyff.
Stad aan de Wadden