Memories of Holland

Thinking about Holland,
I see broad rivers
moving slowly through
endless lowlands.
rows of unthinkably
thin poplars
standing as high plumes
one above the other;
and sunken within
wonderful space,
farm houses
scattered throughout the land,
clusters of trees, villages,
cropped towers,
churches and elms
in one great association.
the air hangs low
and the sun is slowly
muffled in a gray
mottled fog,
and in the many provinces
the voice of the water
with its eternal calamities
is feared and heard.
(Contributed by Rozita on Thursday, February 10th, 2011)
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