Kel, who’s hair was untied, trudged over the snow, winter in the Northern Netherlands was the best time of year, she was happy, everyone was. On the ice of the lake of Lekstraat was the only miserable person in the neighbourhood: the Keeper of Eels; he was swarmed by hungry eels, like the storm cloud in the sky. But these ones looked different, as if they were plotting something, as if they were staring, at Kel…
You are a Poem,
You are the strings of a lyre,
Shaking forever until time’s end.
You are a towering tower,
Watching from atop the streets in The Hague.
You are the pencil on the paper,
Giving guidance to the writer of the poem.
You are the wings of a dragonfly,
Fluttering in the leaves of autumn.
You are the sound of a fireplace,
Being blown in the air of a living room.
You are the scent of a candle,
Flying into the noses of noble people.
You are a sapling, waiting so much, yet so little,
To become a great pine tree.
You are the season of summer,
Heating the souls of adventurous travellers.
You are the sky,
Overlooking the residents of planet earth.
You are a book,
Bursting with information on every one of it’s pages.
You are a star,
Glistening in the darkness of the night sky.
You are a cloud,
Packed with gallons of water
You are an ant, striving the grass,
Pleading to not get crushed.
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