Vijfde Van de Elfde VrijMiBo
Wide are my habits of wealth
as the changeable taffeta of a child's dress
or the rain
gathering thornsoft its drift
under the acacias of my love.
Oh I am as a child,
stolen into water and blunted into money,
the cymbals crouched
and spring in an applause of brass
... though the rain puts its face in my hand.
Prettig weekend. En be nice.
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