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House by the Harbor, Grenada

"Shhush!" hisses the white house
to the rowdy mob of red-orange blossoms.
"Look who's talking!" chortle the blossoms--
"Your roof is drowning us out!"
"Nonsense," harumphs the house,
"My roof has a dignified diamond shape
and stays in one place. Now be still!"
The house likes stillness, quiet colors,
deep blues, dark greens, sculpted
wave and cloud and tree, modest reflections
in the sea at its foot. But the house
has its one touch of vanity, like a fancy
hat, bought in a moment of weakness,
worn thereafter to justify the purchase:
Its red roof. The blossoms reach to surround
the house with a cloud of titters.
And on all sides the adults, the lapidary sea,
graven green hills and white-whittled sky,
hold themselves still out of politeness,
asimmer with suppressed giggles.

Dean Blehert

Last Updated: October 5, 2002

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