Sheep many times reflected

in the sky.

Everywhere whispering:spring is on the way.

Its scent hangs in the boughs, pulls at

the young leaflets. Out of their element they resist

cold. The water murmers in the distance:

what is keeping the wind.

When the year advances the picnic days arrive.

The table put upright again, a basket

full of dainties lures the song:

baa baa white sheep have you any wool?

( vertaling van W.Tigges uit What we left behind)