From where I sit

From where I sit

A slash of blue

Separates

One house from the other

The roofs are flat

The angles sharp

Artless.

A featureless sky

Empty of interest

A plainly coloured hew

Free of cloud

Or even

The merest hint of depth

The occasional Ibis

Lumbers across

In ungainly progress

Looking to put its beak

Where it is not wanted

A trail of Butterflies

Flutter by

Nary stopping

There is nothing of interest

For the pollen bearers

In Bamboo

No flowers bloom on the pot plants

Not even newly pruned

Lavender

Is deemed worthy of a sniff

I long for the curiosity

Of the Sparrow

The loyalty of a Robin

The bravado of a squirrel

Lost to me now

In the absence

Of an established

Country garden

I wonder how well

It fares

Without us

Will there be other

Fingers

Stained with green

To nurture its growth

From season to season

Add to the richness

Of the palette

You created

With more than love

Pray that it is so

And it has not been

Turned to paving

As happened

Once before

So very long ago

When you were piqued

Enough to go back

To an old house

And steal a look

To your eternal disappointment