Slaving away in the garden,
Plowing the fertile soil,
Trudging through the thick earth,
Working hard until toil;
For some odd reason,
Mi mamá le encanta trabajando;
I don’t.
She says it helps with patience,
“Paciencia es una virtud”.

When I get tired, I go to sit
in la granja. I sit there to
think,
live,
and breathe.
Mamá trabaja hacía la noche;
until the full moon rises.
Casting it’s luminous glow upon all
below.

I can talk to the animals too:
The deer, the chickens, the rabbits,
The birds, and even the stray dog that wanders
into la granja.
Although the leaves of the bushes droop,
And watering cans lay scattered,
And the walls of la granja are aging,
And the animals have taken over;
Mi madre todavía le gusta para trabajar allí,
Y no sé por qué.

The only thing that seems to grow,
Standing tall and strong;
The only thing that seems to grow is el arból—the tree,
Living right where it belongs.
Its leaves shaped like ringlets,
Its branches yearning for the stars;
It makes the farm whole—me, mamá, and the tree.
the Farm.

La granja:
Te amo

I wish I could go back