They lived in the gray celled house, which they built-
on the cross brown street of the garden fence, secured with
unknown glue, that not even gale force winds can dislodge.
They lived and worked in the neighborhood, occupying their
time on the bell-shaped orange Aloe Vera flowers. Purple,
pink ,red, and white clusters of crate myrtles, the swaying
oleanders-pink and white, they seamed to sway even when
there is no wind— blooming from stem to stem, top to bottom
and every where in between. D-r-a-w-n in by the cozy purple
centered-yellow okra flower, they worked.
They lived and worked in the neighborhood,occupying their
time on the red,white and pink roses, even the pretty yellow
pink and red hibiscuses, and don’t forget the reddish-orange
pomegranate, or the white delicate papaya blossoms, t-r-a-p-p-e-d
on the reddish -orange bulbed shaped cactus, or the yellowish-
red clit-shaped pigeon peas flower. They worked.
They lived and worked in the neighborhood,occupying their time
all summer long, when winter arrived, they abandoned their house
for some place else. What secrets do they hold? How did their
house get dislodged and falls to the ground? They disappeared.
Where did they go? Who would like to know?
They lived and worked in the neighborhood, they built strong fiber-
like houses and yet light as a feather. They are master builders.
They worked and worked all summer long, in the neighborhood,