In ko yn appeltiid
Eat ropt wekker yn dy ko it ferlet
In freding fral te sjen as in iepen sket
En fredingmakkers fral as net sa snoad.
Har kop is besmodske, sy flybket in soad,
’t Is sjerp fan sider. No’t se preaun hat fan fruit,
Wurdt greide toar as hop troch har ferspuid.
Sy draaft fan beam nei beam, dêr lizze en swietsje
De ôfwaaide fruchten, dêr’t wjirmen fan genietsje.
Oant it har fleane lit, begnaut se dy rûch.
Sy âlet tsjin de loft – en wurdt dan slûch.
Har jaar ferskronfelet. Sy stiet aanst drûch.
A Cow in Apple Time
Something inspires the only cow of late
To make no more of a wall than an open gate,
And think no more of wall-builders than fools.
Her face is flecked with pomace and she drools
A cider syrup. Having tasted fruit,
She scorns a pasture withering to the root.
She runs from tree to tree where lie and sweeten
The windfalls spiked with stubble and worm-eaten.
She leaves them bitten when she has to fly.
She bellows on a knoll against the sky.
Her udder shrivels and the milk goes dry.
Ut Mountain Interval, 1916