There, over the hills and the seas was a house,
Inside, was an old gramophone that played records,
Of sounds and words back then unknown,
But that would linger in my head for the decades to follow.
On what then seemed like long afternoons, we sat in the garden
A plate of spinach before me, and the foul taste of fresh nettle juice,
You told me –
”On that mountain in the distance,
in a little cabin, lives a girl named Masha,
She loves spinach and nettle juice, and she is really, really strong’.’
So I ate and drank to be as strong as her,
forgetting all about candy cravings and other tantrums
In the garden was a swing that you and dad built and tied to a branch,
You read out loud lines I couldn’t comprehend,
While I flew higher and higher,
Trying with my little hands to grab the clouds.
We walked the wet streets on rainy Sundays
To pay a visit to the old dog named Joe
You, umbrella in hand, and me in my famous yellow raincoat – Pardon the L. Cohen reference, you just always loved him so much.
How I loved the tact with which the rain drops would splash within puddles.
Then, there were the warm days in May with fields far too green,
And forests with streams by which violets would grow,
I’d pick them along with dandelions and other weeds,
to make the grandest of bouquets for you.
There were stray cats to which we would feed bowls of milk,
And candy wrappers I’d carelessly throw on the ground,
Which, without a fail, you made me pick up and throw out,
And I learned not to do that again.
See, in my eyes, you were versed in all things,
And I admired the kindness with which you treated every living thing,
I can only hope that it lives within me long enough,
Like a form of estate to pass onto the world.
There, over the hills and the seas was a house.