Het is weekend. Blissfully happy.

Nature is for the empty, the contented.
And then: what can we boast of in this land?
A hill with some small villas set against it,
A patch of wood no bigger than your hand. 

Give me instead the sombre city highroads
The waterfront hemmed in between the quays,
And clouds reflected in an attic window -
Were ever clouds more beautiful than these? 

All things are riches to the unexpectant.
Life holds its wonders hidden from our sight,
Then suddenly reveals them to perfection. 

I thought this over, walking through the sleet,
The city grime, one grey and drizzly morning,
Blissfully happy, drenched in Dapper Street.
Prettig weekend. En be nice.