This Sunday's poem in the Van Oorschot calendar is by Dèr Mouw

Young lovely, who with cool-white bridal gown

would much like to deny the sultry glow

that darkly makes her slimness shimmer so,

eyes sparkle, and hair form a gleaming crown,

she feels as if she goes now, one elect,

she she alone, to meet sheer Happiness:

her own house, husband handsome to excess,

in word and deed so noble, so perfect –

Already I see a tired face, greying hair;

the memory of a paradise, once fair

now lost, is in her eyes a listless gleam:

life threw her out, a flat-flailed sheaf of corn;

a docile drudge, dulled by the brood she’s borne,

with sagging belly, bourgeois, broad of beam.