They come from all sides, ringing bells
The pavements set the pace
And the unsuspecting tourist tells -
His neighbour, "It's a race!"
But no, this flat land, brightly clad
Despite the leaden skies
Is a wealth of wheels spinning like mad
Where movement never dies.
The Hague, no longer under wraps
Has history to explore
We walk until fit to collapse
Now "going Dutch" means more!
(c) Poet in the woods 2013