My friend Francis Devine, from Dublin, gave me the following poem, inspired by this photo of the morning scene behind my house. Thank you so much, Francis!

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Poplar stands, enormous skies
Ghosts of engineering Dutchmen
Echoing in folk with names like
Snart, Homan, van der This
And, occasionally, van der That
Black soil rainbow-striped with tulips, 
Obscuring dyke and drain in winter
Fen Blows when whooper and wigeon
Paddle wash and polder, once staples
With plover eggs, wicker-trapped eels, 
When this land was not land but soggy
Marsh, isles and droves sequestered from
Another world that sought to suffocate
This watery utopia, silence its whistles, swishing
Reeds, pollarded willows and mad March
Blows that brought family cheer from Holland.