In the grey sky above Vlissengen
A bird floats by
Chased by her own shadow
And the first flakes of snow
On the radio the top two thousand
Ploughs gamely on
And the New Year waits impatiently
On the corner of a scuddy snowy street
The wind is horizontal
Stinging snow and a rock and roll wind
Blows Jill’s brolly apart
The first thunderclaps and sonic booms
Rattle the Dutch rafters and chimneys
And the birds head for the country
Midnight and we raise our glass, whoop
Troop outside to witness the carnage of the old year
And the aerial bombardment begins
Screaming devils and heavy-duty explosives
And Jill says, We were so young when we met
We’re so old now
5 comments:
Old but young at heart.
London was brilliant. Fireworks and dancing. Whoops and singing. A splendid time had by all.
x
Loches, here in France, was very quiet. The French don't seem to do fireworks. The poem was written in Holland where we used to go every year. It was like being in the Blitz. You'd wake up deaf the next morning, as still the explosiuons and fireworks rumbled on.
I thought the Dutch had more sense!
I had Dutch clients, Remark, Jill may know them, they were't sensible at all. Daft as the English but more capable with languages (and fireworks apprenmtly)
TORTI
The Dutch are crazy. Especially at New Year. It was the neighbours avowed intent to fire rockets at another neighbour's house to set it on fire. They tried it every year. In Vlissingen the streets would come alive at around 12.30 at night with people on their way to parties.
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