L'aura del Campo

Ode to the oriole dreams of a ten-year-old [179.25]

Ode to the oriole dreams of a ten-year-old

Oh, to have been old instead of young,
to have glimpsed you building your swaying nest in an old elm tree
before it became ill, before it was felled.
All those sunsets aglow behind your silhouette.

Now I drink your sunshine every morning in Portugal,
an old bird pecking at ripened cherries,
a mirage missing the pitch, strike three.
Ah, the memories of a ten-year-old... now casting shadows midst dreams.

© Copyright 2022 Kåre Enga [179.25] (3.juni.2022)