L C Vieira (Lisbon, Portugal)
This is an envied luxury,
tall pines in every view.
Grand maples, hickory, tulip trees
refresh my spirit 'new.
Apple blossoms, fluffs of white,
purple phlox to greet my sight
and blue Forget-me-nots below
are all I need, though more I know.
Nature's cathedral rises high
above this humble roof
where plumbing is still lacking some,
bare floors and ceilings, proof,
and aching backs tossed through dark hours
on make-shift beds too late.
Now quiet is the only sound
when peepers' trill await.
Raindrops tip tap tip tap tip tap
to chickadees' sing-song,
so warm the draughty chill's attempts
for what does not belong.
My nails are soiled,
cracked mud on boots
and wild hair chases wind
to waiting paths of forest trees
where ancient voices call -
here you have saved a space for me
and kept it from the start,
and I will keep it close inside
as special to my heart.
(2007, edited 2012)
Comments about this poem (Blooming Hills by L C Vieira )
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