The
green slopes and mountains remain,
Circling
her ancient home,
Villa
Rica, and its coffee groves—
Dragging
the dusty Andean winds after her
(Hoping
someone puts in an asphalt road…)
Haggard
with loneliness!
Here
they have their folklore;
They
have wills and minds
Like
those long forgotten
Saber-tooth
tigers…
At
night the sky is high, hard to count
The
stars, and fleeting galaxies,
As
they sway away like a wild herd of sheep;
It’s
all nourishing air…!
#3362/6-17-2012
Note: The author went
to Villa Rica, in 2007 to do a poetry reading, and stayed at a local
Hotel for two days; the people were very warm, and pleasant,
and the young folks were
Very good doing
dramatic drama…
