As the sea blows through the dune on the breeze, the salt is left behind in the sand; no blooming flowers, no new green shoots tint the pale crest of its expanse; but the filtered water—garden by garden— sets ablaze the land in tulip-red; rustling like woods, to where the rim is lined with marram and thistle heads; In the storms and trials of human life— flowerless—God leaves the surface, where the seed of joy is soon extinguished, drowned by the song and sound of sorrow; Then—filtered to purity underground— rises like a poem, with rhythm and flow; artistic thought which flowers and delights, sways and sparkles, rustles and glows.
Johan Andreas der Mouw (1863-1919) (translated by Prontobard 2022)