Your sky always slightly
blue
Morning often slightly
wet
Lovely Dordrecht
Tomb
Of my precious illusions
When I try to draw
Your canals, your roofs, your steeple
I feel I could love
A homeland
Still sun and church bells
Dry out quickly
For high mass, also brioches
And gleaming steeple
Your sky
So often wet,
But always underneath
A bit stays blue.
