It’s another day

by Christine De Luca

It’s another day
In the garden of the Sheltered houses
she slips into each contented nap.
She’s made the move from idyll
of secluded cottage; is at ease now
with quiet neighbours, an almost view.

She has planted flowers,
and a male and female holly
in the hope of berries.
She starts to wave to passers–by
with their bright jackets.

I’m remembering that stranger who,
bed–ridden and sleepless in a sanatorium,
kept a lookout for a carefree morning girl
who ran past her window, not to miss
the early shift of her summer job;

having pulled herself unwillingly
from the sweet hollow of sleep;
the older woman daily waving
to her own young healthy years,
smiling into the face of another day.

Hit’s anidder day

I da gairden o da Shaltered hooses
shö neebs aff, dovers owre at aese.
Shö’s med da möv fae her heeven,
her ain peerie nyook; is content noo
wi paeceful neebirs, a half–haertit view.

Shö’s plantit flooers,
an a male an female holly
i da hoop o berries.
Shö sterts ta wave ta passers–by
wi der bricht jackets.

A’m mindin on dat uncan wife dat,
bed–ridden an waakrife i da sanatorium,
keepit watch for a carefree moarnin lass
at ran bi her window, ta catch
da aerly shift o her simmer job;

shö’d pooed herself, laith,
fae da sweet slacky o sleep;
da aalder wife daily wavin
tae her ain young healty years,
smilin inta da face o anidder day.