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Leaflet | © OpenStreetMap contributors, Points © 2019 LINZ
Piters Willemke lei nachts foar dea op bêd. Dan siet der gjin leven yn, dan wie de geest der út. Dan wie 't krekt in pânse, seinen se. Dan wie Willemke der op út te tsjoenen. Soms wie 't in kat, mar hja koe har ek yn in sinters boltsje foroarje. As der guon kamen, wylst Willemke foar dea op bêd lei, en dy seinen: Dit liket net bêst, hja liket wol dea, dan...
Der wie froeger in man, fortelde ús mem, ik leau dat dy Klaes Kunst hiet. Dy hie op in kear de mage oer de line. Dy hie er útspield. Doe kom der krekt in houn oan en dy naeide mei syn mage út. Mar hy hat him wer to pakken krige. En hy krige him der èk wer yn.
