The mother ties the hair-ribbons of the child
And she has peace. My Jacomyntje!
Your great-grandfather was an Indian fighter.
The cool sun of the Tulpehocken refers
To its barbed, barbarous rising and has peace.
These earlier dissipations of the blood
And brain, as the extraordinary references
Of ordinary people, places, things,
Compose us in a kind of eulogy.
My Jacomyntje! This first spring after the war,
In which your father died, still breathes for him
And breathes again for us a fragile breath.
In the inherited garden, a second-hand
Vertumnus creates an equilibrium.
The child’s three ribbons are in her plaited hair.