My Friesland
I've come at last, my Friesland;
I'll never leave again,
But watch the budding trees stand
Above the grassy plain.
From the smallest little flow'rs that grow,
To the tallest steeple's rise,
You're the fairest country that I know
Beneath the bluest skies.
Everywhere I walk, I see,
My memories are true;
The people smiling back at me,
Their eyes are sparkling too.
From Bolsward down toward Heerenveen,
The dearest land I've seen;
What shame I nearly left for good,
When I was but fifteen.
I've come at last, my Friesland;
My wand'ring I resign:
Oh, sprawling, comely sealand,
What joy to call you mine!
{Form begins as a sonnet and continues as quatrain.}
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
