The year is young, my life springs new
a chance to start again
blot out those fields of green and blue
the toil of farming men
No longer are my feet awash
with dirt among the rows
of rich, green okra, corn or squash
and blisters on my toes
In concrete pastures do I laugh
clean, tidy is my room
my baskets rough and full of chaff
I’ve traded for a broom
The new year brought a neighborhood
so pretty and so fine
I wouldn’t trade it if I could
turn back the paths of time
The evening sunset I can see
from windows wide and high
no fighting the mosquito, bee
In fading nightly sky
So why am I quite lonely now
why do I dream of fields
blood red as crotons lowly bow
and bougainvillea yields
‘Oh you’ll get used to it, ’ they say
and they are right, I’m sure
those memories saved along the way
are past, they won’t endure
Is not a sunset just as pink
when seen from marbled sill
as running breathlessly to drink
a glimpse of day’s last will
My rocky journey is at end
my place so calm, secure
yet when that orange orb descends
at night, I am not sure.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
'In concrete pastures do I laugh', but have memories of mosquitos, crops and sunsets in a distant home land, 'running breathlessly to drink', love it!