TWELVE

It was the week of Easter.
We were both twelve of age
I crawled through the bushes
With my most dearest mate

The willows’ light-green colour
The fresh air of the Spring
Were filling all my senses
But most the sound of him

Far from civilization
He was all mine, alone
Every word and gesture
Went me right to the bone

Always I will remember
How happy I became
When, breaking for a sandwich
His back leaned against mine

Now being so much older
I still feel the presence of
His warm and tender shoulder
And my unanswered love

Dit is de Engelse vertaling van mijn gedicht ‘Twaalf’, opgenomen in de Poëzieroute van het Utrechtse Griftpark.

 

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