Ok, so the dream is dead,

or not dead really,

but dying

under this beautiful house that loves me,

with her feet sticking out of the crawl space.

She was from the East,

and wanted to go further,

to every palace and battleground in Europe,

to be hunted by crocodiles and lions in Africa,

to waddle with penguins in Antarctica.

 

So what if things did not go as planned,

if the mice cry in their nests?

Who cares as long as the man is good,

the mind has its medicine?

And, anyway, someone else will have the chance

to slurp up the Earth’s beauty,

when Terra Firma

is older and even more graceful;

she will have my place when she is older

and more graceful.

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