The Netherlands clouds blossom

From the west clouds come hurrying 

with the wind turning sharply 

Here and there

Like a plague of locusts whirling tossing 

up things on its tail like a madman 

Chasing nothing

Verily pregnant clouds

Ride stately on its back

Gathering to perch on hills

Like dark sinister wings;

The wind whistles by

And trees bed to let it pass

In the village screams of delighted 

Children Toss and turn excited 

And in the din of whirling wind women—

Babies clinging on their backs— 

dart about in and out madly 

The wind whistles by

Whilst trees bend to let us pass by

Surrounded the west coast by

And clothes wave like tattered flags flying off

To expose dangling breasts

Just as jagged blinding flashes rumble, 

And crack amidst the smell of fired smoke 

then the pelting march of the storms

And blossom at the west coast.

See other poems 

To my modest mistress

The main route not take

Coming of the saint

Song of an Angel