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Die Lente sal kom

Son suig elk kosbaar’ druppel,
spoeg dit telkens elders uit,
soos nuut-vorm stroompie
wat uit skoongewaste -
verdorde harte spruit.
Soms drom donkergrys,
donder- stormwolk saam,
om yskoue winter-lem,
wat deur weefsel sny
maar lente sal verskyn
bloeisels sal dit beaam.