Camellias
These winter mornings,
this year, last year,
and the year before that,
looking out the window
while the kettle boiled,
I see - I saw -
our neighbours' camellias
budding and blossoming
rosy pink, as much for me
as for them. Well,
they've moved away
to be nearer their children
and grandchildren.
New young neighbours
inherit their garden.
Lucky them, lucky us.
Those camellias deserve
to flower, brightening
our winters, whoever's
in the house next door,
whoever's in this,
boiling the kettle
by the kitchen window,
still able to smile,
this year, next year,
and the year after that -
preferably me, me, me.
Max Richards in Melbourne
