Petrus Wittebrood farm

For centuries you have known what summer gives
weathered stones get their colour back
the life that lives more easily
in soft nights. In smell
of hay and long days

Winter, storm, rain cannot harm you
You have seen states, soldiers come and go.
Times make way: God for consuming,
horse for tractor, pump for tap
and fields that fade away from villas.

This remained. Here men have worked, rested, kissed,
played, reproached, forgot, prayed.
Under your roof life has been lived. It brings the peace
of the present with a view of the past
like root soil for big trees.

Summer's evening, and in your courtyard
where the sun stretches over the tiles
the world is far. The world is small.
The blackbird whistles to me its old plans,
I whistle back our young dreams.

Koen Moerman, 1996