Vuurwerk in de VrijMiBo
A timid child has lit the languid fuses:
A graceful bombshell lifts and blooms
Under the sighs and shaking of the stars,
Over the whited and unquiet tombs,
Over the wakened birds and faint cigars
And white uplifted faces boredom uses.
And as the drifting shell becomes a fountain
Over the unheard cornets of the bands
And cymbals wavering in nervous hands,
How near the woods lift toward us, and the mountain,
The roofs and crosses and the blunted shout
Of pale green people as a world goes out!
Prettig weekend. En be nice.
Reaguursels
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