Read Poems by
Girasoles sway in wind outside
the sad vacant house across the street.
They are very high, almost filling
spaces where small thin children played.
Their shrill cries, their shouts, floated across
the narrow street, assaulted my ears.
These tall sunflowers are so silent,
so quiet, so yellow, and so brown.
But now, gladly, I would trade them all
for another chance to see, to hear,
some new noisy children at their play.
Tomorrow I will help to clean up
that yard, may recommend new tenants,
other children, and I will not miss
these brown and yellow girasoles.