Turning of the Tide
Posted: 23 Jun 2019, 20:33
We skirt Lauwersmeer in the DAF.
Em cuddles up and hugs my arm.
Rain clouds loom harbouring a storm.
A westerly whips froth over the road
and we swish through the water
overflowing from the lake.
Mama parks on the dike, a crowd lines
the road to the sluices. Lunar pulls the tide
and the Wadden continues to rise
a crowd watches the sea lap over the bar,
at the turn the gates open, the lake
trickles to the sea, the flow increasing
to a deluge as it empties.
In 30 years I will be under these prime grazing
meadows submerged beneath the Wadden.
The waters will lap up againt windmill sails
that poke through the surf, fragile trestles,
perches for herring gulls.
Emma will remember this day, this glorious
day with Oom Sjoerd and the turning
of the ebb tide that saved us for another day.
But like Canute the sluices will not be able to hold
back the incursion of the ever present waves.
Em cuddles up and hugs my arm.
Rain clouds loom harbouring a storm.
A westerly whips froth over the road
and we swish through the water
overflowing from the lake.
Mama parks on the dike, a crowd lines
the road to the sluices. Lunar pulls the tide
and the Wadden continues to rise
a crowd watches the sea lap over the bar,
at the turn the gates open, the lake
trickles to the sea, the flow increasing
to a deluge as it empties.
In 30 years I will be under these prime grazing
meadows submerged beneath the Wadden.
The waters will lap up againt windmill sails
that poke through the surf, fragile trestles,
perches for herring gulls.
Emma will remember this day, this glorious
day with Oom Sjoerd and the turning
of the ebb tide that saved us for another day.
But like Canute the sluices will not be able to hold
back the incursion of the ever present waves.