Dèr Mouw on one of his favourite themes - the nature of memory

When chill and grey November twilight calls

up images of sun and summer day,

I often see how on the heath I lay

or maybe walked through beeches’ flickering halls.

But often all the summer I once saw

melts to a single feeling that’s recalled,

a still, blue mist where nothing there at all

through stark distinctness rends the floating gauze.

Likewise I often see those I have loved,

all radiant, like summer days deployed;

they’re young once more, as I myself am too.

But sometimes all distinctness is removed.

My soul then seems to be a vault of blue,

one timeless treasure, full of quiet joy.

To see the original poem, go to here