1971
Poetry
by Michael F. Nyiri
Moving Day
Here's a box, a cardboard box Filled with shirts, and pants and socks Here's the house, locked up with locks Bitter time, it's history mocks The grass is brown, no children play The trucks are here; it's moving day Pile the boxes in the trucks Ones with toys and old stuffed ducks Neighbors wishing stale good lucks Glimpse the house, as go the trucks] We all go now, we cannot stay The trucks are gone, it's moving day All of us will hit the road Say goodbye to the old abode Soon we'll stop, unpack our load A long way off's a new abode Through paradoxical elation, you'll find dismay Look to Mother's face on moving day
copyright 2001 by Michael F. Nyiri
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