Today I see my friend’s house,

who passed away three months ago,

and then I glimpsed a sad fact,

poignant and painful, the message that remained,

at the top of the four corners of his house,

where he lived with spouse and three daughters.

Steel spikes left pointing to the sky,

born from the hope of the columns that would ascend

to the second, maybe even a third floor,

sheltering future grandchildren, great-grandchildren,

all of them shielding his marks, his beliefs,

his wants and desires, his heritage to the posterity.

His daughters are not married yet, and,

probably, will not start a family. 

I hope he will come to understand that,

although his house did not reach greater heights,

neither saw nor heard from grandchildren,  

the life he lived on its ground floor had been

happy and fruitful, better than the all of us.

He died at age 84, and I miss him terribly.

This poem and all others at this blog, authored by Edilson Afonso Ferreira ©