a red tiled roof made of red clay
over our brown house
hedged with happiness trees
a rusty mailbox painted but faded red
a deep inactive well in the back
near the forest undergrowth
birds singing as though to greet us
when the sun would peek over the horizon
passing language in the inner room
the wind flowing through the smiling trees
spreads the smell of the mosquito coils
by Itsuki Ari
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