Picture a faded postcard of a tiny Dutch village ‑ a church steeple, a horse-drawn cart, children cycling past the butcher shop. In Het Dorp (The Village), comedian-singer Wim Sonneveld opens that postcard and steps straight into his childhood. Through gentle, almost conversational lyrics, he invites us to stroll beside him along his father’s garden path, past tall trees and rattling wagons, while he recalls a time when life felt timeless and utterly simple.
But the song is more than a sweet memory. As Sonneveld watches television sets glow in new concrete apartments and hears teens with Beatle hair sing pop tunes, he feels a bittersweet tug. Modern progress has swept the village into the future, replacing hedges and cows with glass windows and plastic roses. The melody stays tender, yet the words carry a quiet ache: nothing lasts forever, and even the most ordinary moments can become precious once they are gone. Het Dorp is both a love letter to rural innocence and a gentle reminder to treasure the present before it, too, becomes just another postcard.