Sheep many times reflected
in the sky.
Everywhere whispering:spring is on the way.
Its scent hangs in the boughs, pulls at
the young leaflets. Out of their element they resist
cold. The water murmers in the distance:
what is keeping the wind.
When the year advances the picnic days arrive.
The table put upright again, a basket
full of dainties lures the song:
baa baa white sheep have you any wool?
( vertaling van W.Tigges uit What we left behind)