Poetry Archives

And Kurler swore, a palsied, tottering sound,
And traced his name, a shaking, wandering line.
Then dazed he sat there, speechless from his wound.
Grootver got up:  “Fair voyage, the brigantine!”
He shuffled from the room, and left the house.
His footsteps wore to silence down the street.
At last the aged man began to rouse.
With help he once more gained his trembling feet.
“My daughter, Mynheer Breuck, is friendless now.
Will you watch over her?  I ask a solemn vow.”