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woensdag 19 februari 2014

Mount Saint Peter snapshot poem

Walking up the hill
some last farms still there
abandoned, some alive
some sheep surrounded by grass

Stairs to make it easy
for an elder guy like me
to reach the terrace
and eat and drink to pay for

A view over the Meuse
their yachts that glimmer in the sun
The far away town
and some fishermen ashore

Still people living here;
the lucky ones
Those who did not want to leave
or wealthy enough to afford

Is it a Mount for everyone
just walking the paths
crossing the slopes
barefoot like a native

Hallelujah, wintershades are still green
trees some leaves
as had their Spring
in Summer mood

But the shades are too tall
too long, and walk across myself
my only I to further away
and still nearing home

That high house is mine
I want, the cows in their stable
and wonder how a postman
will find you here

I do not want the lower living
with a car in the garage
that does not belong to this hill
Give me shelter, I pray
to the ghost of the Mount;
this Peter, who does not know
that he is named that far away;
so long from home

on an earth he did not know

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