Remembering dogwood flowers blossoming upon the mountaintop
where we lived when just a child, cherry, mulberry, pear and
apple trees on our property ready to eat anytime we were hungry.
Even at Grandma's house, having fruit everywhere, even grape
arbors she'd brought from Sicily, growing green grapes on one
and red on the other arbor.
Upon our mountaintop grew blackberries, honey suckles all over
the place, just for we kids as we wandered all over the front
yard - seventy five acres.
Standing outside, playing in the willow trees hiding from Mom
and Dad, having fun all through daylight hours, our very own
fantasyland - a reality in our lives.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem