Your Pensive Sigh Is Calling Me
Your pensive sigh is calling me To warm light, to my native threshold Where grandmother and grandfather sit on the porch Awaiting their spirited sunflower-aged grandson. Their grandson is slim and white as a birch, With honey hair and velvet hands. Except, o my friend, I see from his blue eyes - They're only dreaming of his worldly life. The bright Virgin in the icon corner Beams joy into their darkness. With a quiet smile on her thin lips She holds their grandson in her arms.