Dear Valeria,
Only in my poems can I make my home.
I have found shelter in no other form.
There is no hearth I've pined for as my own.
A tent could be uprooted in the storm.
Only in my poems can I make my home.
While I still know that I can find those doors
In wilderness, in woods, on streets or moors,
I fear no grief- no matter where I roam.
All the best,
Jan Jacob Slauerhoff
No comments:
Post a Comment