De Bilt

As a child, I saw the splitting stream
of a creek in the wood and I chose fuller place
with shade of bats, song of birds, mushrooms                                                
and hinds in that land of mine

Later, in love, the estate seemed for ever,
old and stately, where we too, wandering
under an arc of trees, had all the time
in each arms. Good things remained.

But, back now, summers seem go faster,
from warped branches yellow leaves fall
already on alga, laying on water surface

and shrinking light of October touches us,
years do not turn. We, shadow in water
in wrinkling wind that dissipates us.