The Constant Companion

I see a scene so pristine clear
That Adam might have tarried there
in days of yore - before the world
was into its sad bondage hurl'd.

Such cobalt skies with ne'er a cloud,
and mountain beech so tall and proud!
A gushing stream that hops and skips
and over log and boulder trips.

A crystal lake, with forests verged.
A fallen log that's half submerged.
A fantail flits from twig to twig
and makes of hunt a merry jig.

And tow'ring out above this all,
the scarred and jagged granite wall
which thrusts to heaven its snowy height
in praise of its Creator's might.

What place on Earth could rival this?
A view of unabating bliss!
Surely: there's none who hither came
that ever wished to leave again!

Aye, but alas! What can this be -
this biting cloud that torments me?!
It hovers inches from my face
and follows me from place to place.

If I but dare to stop and rest,
it comes on its relentless quest
to needle me with nettles fine
in temple, ankle, wrist and spine.

It stings! It burns! It racks with pain.
It tears the flesh and sears the brain,
and in its tireless search for blood,
it drowns me in an anguished flood.

I writhe and wrench in my travail.
I swipe and swat -- to no avail.
For agonising is relief
that's followed by redoubled grief.

Escape! That is my final bid
to have me of this plague be rid!
And so I run at break-neck pace
to leave behind this wretched place.

Back to my home that's safe and grey!
Where I'll not be an insect's prey.
Give me polluted city air --
the sandfly will not harm me there!

by Eduard Havelaar

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