Poetry Archives

Spring slipped away to Summer.  Still no glass
Sighted the brigantine.  Then Grootver came
Demanding Jufvrouw Kurler.  His trespass
Was justified, for he had won the game.
Christine begged time, more time!  Midsummer went,
And Grootver waxed impatient.  Still the ship
Tarried.  Christine, betrayed and weary, sank
To dreadful terrors.  One day, crazed, she sent
For Max.  “Come quickly,” said her note, “I skip
The worst distress until we meet.  The world is blank.”