VELDMAN, Vick


Still

Leaves still hang on the trees

and asters keep half dreaming.

I still taste autumn raspberries

and I enjoy the late pink roses.

The horizon still turns orange-red,

the daylight very slowly dies.

White anemones still are growing,

red vine expels the demons.

At the end of these too short years

winter cherry trees will still bloom.

What matters

(to our daughter)

Small things remain:

the quiet peace of rustling poplars,

the yellow of buttercups and grass growing green,

the smell of wood after a vernal shower,

a smile, a blush on girlish cheeks,

the warmth of your name,

a child’s hand at the window,

the tear making clear:

“I’ll be there.”