Poem Hunter
PW (03-06-1949 / Bergene NH)


Poem By Peter Wijbenga

.....fields are laying ripe and
barns have secrets

the city a place the evening
foams in rare trees

Still winds blow cleaned by mist
and sea air

sailed by solemn woolen ships

and the sun lets, seeing,
his already saddest colors free

Still there are tears for the beauty
of the woods and the fields, woven with wings

the scent of flowers along

Still fruits give wine
for erotic nights in clear moon

and parents smile for their children,
already strong

Still people attempt separation
because they are beautiful for each other

and in themselves even so lonely

Still the Mona Lisa smiles broken lipped
centuries in front of her

in a expensive arty visual game

On the earth we cure history

Although words are more and more guilty of touchable being

Still we can overlook

the consequence.

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