Once in Drongen, near the old abbey,
the mistress called out names:
— Lijsbeth! Geraard! Joris! —
And to each she handed a sweet from her bag.

Then the abbey bell began to toll,
and the sweets started to change —
some grew dark, others began to move.

And like an echo, ever more names resounded:
— Margriet! Klaas! Cathelijne! —
And no one knew whose names they were.

Pencil on paper