January 23, 2014
Under the oak tree grandmother sits calmly, and we surround her
Eager eyes, inquisitive faces, and abundant glee
We listen to her anecdotes -
Of her youthful days of yore; of love and war;
Of kings and the British;
Of traditional games that exist no more.
Grandmother tells us the secrets of the stars;
Of the lonely moon's beaming bright;
And stories of knights and princesses who live there
In the land of the sky.
Summer nights are here
Dazzling moonlight and twinkling stars above our heads
And grandmother's garden spreads a myriad of enchanting perfumes.
Fireflies raise a kindling chorus
The gentle wind's breeze echoes rhythmically to the merry ruffle of the dancing leaves
In the distant hills. we see thin red lines of fire flickering.
Grandmother sighs helplessly,
"In the hills, they cut trees and make wood for living."
Do they see the moon and the stars?
Do they sit under oak tree with their grandmother?
Do they have such joyful summer nights?
Shall we go to the hills and tell them grandmother's stories?
"They will bow down to you; serve you delicious food; and sing and dance for you."
The moon comes out of a pair of floating clouds.
The sky renders a sparkling spread - A shelter of hope.
Grandmother walks away for her slumber.
And we are awake.
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