Monday, July 30, 2018

Looking out my window © Tony Fallon 073018

Looking out my window © Tony Fallon 073018

Afternoons I look out my window at "my" little stream
Further on in the park I see a youthful baseball team
Driven on with dreams one day of being New York Yanks
Totally unaware of the lovely flowers on the banks
There are daffodils and crocus and wildly spreading iris
Iris bulbs would grow on the moon they have no known virus


Underneath my window I sow many bulbs and seeds
After a while there's thinning and pulling up the weeds
Over in the corner I have a small potatoes plot
I often don't get enough potatoes to fill up one pot


I have seen bees and butterflies but I have not seen bats
I have been stung by mosquitoes and those annoying gnats
Not too far from my window there are many small birds' nests
I have to keep an eye on cats they can be real pests


There is a duck comes back yearly and has a new brood
I think fresh bread crumbs are the young ones favorite food
I saw a goose there once in the midst of winter frost
I never saw her again; that day she must have been lost

Drinking the cool mountain water I see a herd of deer
At the slightest noise they hear they all quickly disappear


On the other bank are benches by the fishing hole
Boys who do not have girlfriends have a fishing pole
Of course the teenage girls always giggle and shout
Whenever one of the boys catches a fine big trout
Their innocence and laughter brings me so such delight
But I must close the window when I retire each night


My little plot is surrounded by mountain hills and trees
They say some of the finest wood up there has a bad disease
They say there are beavers up there who are tree wreckers
Across the stream from my window there are two woodpeckers
That constant pecking sound could drive a grown man insane
That's the only time at my window that I am profane

The weather changes rapidly from season to season
We forget summer's heat when in winter we are freezin'
Yet in those dark and dreary winter days I find solace
I look out my window and pretend I see gladiolus
But there also is some magic in a long tin icicle
Wouldn't you love to have one when riding on your bicycle?

In summer the stream's almost empty but then quickly refills
The water is often a dark brown from silt in the hills
Far away it rises exactly where I have no notion
It passes to the Hudson then the Atlantic Ocean


When first I came here the river lapped the other side
The storm changed its direction now it's deep but not so wide
Millions of gallons came down the mountain like an explosion
In high water my property suffers some erosion
They say unless another storms changes the river bed
My house will fall into the water long after I am dead

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