Another Dèr Mouw, chosen for a six-pack issued at the Doetinchem symposium

At times, taking a snowy winter path
past rows of beech, you find a hidden spot –
a sleeping trace of summer that forgot,
it seems, with long-gone swallows to depart:

No snow. Light gossamer. Some moss. A midge.

From sun-caught russet leaves a tit’s shrill cheep.

It’s almost as if words to charm from sleep

the sun and summer were within your reach.

So too, when you grow old, you suddenly

deep in your soul find some small memory

of childhood days, when all was warmth and sun;

and in an instant vision may become

recaptured as reality as well –

as if you, briefly, nearly knew the spell.

To see the six-pack, go to here