The Victorian House By The Small Dogwood Tree
There stands the Victorian house
by the small dogwood tree I planted at the age
of nineteen thinking of a colorful spring;
what a subtle joy palpitating inside
at a short distance, before Lassie starts barking:
her hearing is sharper than mine!
I stop walking with a curious reflection:
who built this house by a busy highway,
was it a desolate place of deep mediation?
wilderness was all around, unpaved roads
that raised dust that harmed breath and eyes,
and despite it, one savored its tranquility!
Monarch butterflies made some strange sounds,
and gathered on the branches of the long-leaf pines,
they decorated them with the blueness of their pretty wings;
swifts watched them and dared not make them their preys!
Were they taking a nap after the long journey from Birmingham,
where they couldn't survive the extreme heat towards noon;
I caught a few of them and gently caressed them releasing them
into that space sparking with light crossed by a vagrant balloon!
The Victorian house by the smallw dogwood tree was torn down
by heavy machinery to make room for another luxurious hotel,
I gave away the Border Collie, he made a great sentinel;
leaving against my will after decades was a heartbreaking decision!
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