The flowers in my neighbor’s yard
Are courteous to strangers,
They nod their heads in greeting
Every time I happen to pass by.
The maple trees lining the road
Take pride in the shades they cast.
They keep their leaves still
So no sunlight can get through.
The crow perched on a branch
And waiting for a speeding car
To run over a squirrel or a cat,
Looks resigned to a long wait.
The dogs I meet pretend to be vicious,
Before confessing they are lonely,
For which a tickle behind the ear
And a stroll with me does wonders.
Charles Simic is an old geezer who sits in his home in New Hampshire reading a lot of books and writing a poem now and then when he is not wandering in his imagination through New York, Paris, London, Berlin and Rome.