Roderwolde

Roderwolde

Poet on a Bicycle

It did not work in Roderwolde,
But when he cycled further on,
Across a wide and open tract,
As soon as he had left the village
And rolled out freely on his bike,
An image there began to tease him,
A symbol slowly uncoiling,
That left him homesick in its wake.
In Roderwolde it failed.

A sentence whirled around his head
And almost hardened into sign,
Then slipped away—to his regret—
Yet still the feeling lingered on,
As though it mocked him as it played.
It only came past Roderwolde.

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