VrijMiBo met ballen

Het is weekend. Een bolletje meer, een balletje minder.

Throw the blue ball above the little twigs of the tree-tops,
And cast the yellow ball straight at the buzzing stars.

All our life is a flinging of colored balls 
                                           to impossible distances.
And in the end what have we?
                                           A tired arm – a tip-tilted nose.

Ah! Well! Give me the purple one.
Wouldn't it be a fine thing if I could make it stick
On top of the Methodist steeple?
Prettig weekend. En be nice.