The pumpkin and the acorn

No. 15 on the route

A farmer from the land where Maasheggen grows

Was stubborn and cross and stubborn.

He felt he had to interfere in everything,

contradicted everyone, without any evidence.

One day as he crept through his field of pumpkins

harvest came only very slowly.

His knee hurt him, he got sand in his shoes,

And the fruit so heavy, ah, how long it lasted.

When at night in the bedstead his bones glowed again

of pain, he knew for sure: creation is wrong.

Pumpkins that must grow on an oak tree,

then they fall out of the bronze-green wood by themselves.

The next day, after a few hours of toil,

the farmer thought it was high time for a nap under a tree.

Lying at the Cold Oord, he tasted the pleasure

To rest under an oak tree and sank into a dream.

A gust of wind, sent, oh maybe from above,

That wind came to shake the branches of the tree.

An acorn plopped right on the head and

awakened, the farmer then thought: fortunately, no pumpkin.

© Geurt Franzen

after a fable by La Fontaine