There is a little yellow house
At the corner of the street
Where the jacaranda has
Painted the paving purple
Every day the house appears
With a new face
Its walls look untouched by
The frantic rain that fell this morning
Untouched by muddy feet of nightmares
That cling and climb walls
Like lizards at night.
I wonder what that little house
Is made of
Maybe those curtains are made of concrete
Maybe those doors are not doors
But deceiving paintings on solid walls
That yard must be a minefield
The only voice there is a sound
Of unattended mulberries
Hitting the ground
Like lazy dewdrops from a tree.
Kommentaar
So mooi! Ek sien die huisie so voor my.