Wjerlûdich guozzepetear
dûnse oer in flueske snie
en nuet bûgden de beripe
reiden harren fine fearren.
It legelânwetter lei iisklear
yn ’e omkriten fan Smelle Ie,
dat yn in dizige wintersfear
oan ivige frede tinken die.
Ynienen klonk der earne
in tongerjende klap, reagers
spatten as stienslach fuort.
It greidlân kaam yn ’e mist
as in roukleed yn beweging;
ien goes bleau deastil lizzen.
December
Resounding geese talk
danced over a web of snow
where the frosted reed bowed
their fine feathers low.
The water shone as ice
in the misty peatland nearby
and the cold winter sphere
felt like eternal peace.
However, suddenly I heard
a thunderous blow,
shivering herons fled in fear.
The fog in the bog rose
stately like a shroud to the sky;
one goose did not survive.
