Beyond the field, a forest and a field,

Then huge bays flashing a white mirror.

The land, among them, hovers yellow-gold

Like a tulip floating in a bowl of water.

Father says this is Europe. And on clear days

You see it as if you held it in your palm,

Still steaming from repeated floods. It is,

For people, dogs, horses and cats, a home.

The tall spires of vivid cities shine.

Small streams run together like silver braid.

And here and there, a color like goosedown

Gleams where the moons of mountains spread.