Only the Trees Remain: An Ode to Margie Einberger
You lived in your house for 60 years.
But then the buyers bought.
And the buyers destroyed.
I'm sure they called it interior renovation.
I call it destruction.
Now it's all modern and fancy inside.
And the outside?
The yards were streamlined, its curves straightened.
Your beautiful gardens perfectly manicured,
Now lost to the boredom and bland.
Fortunately, in my grieving for your Land,
For your Life,
And for your Memory, Grandma,
There is at least some small consolation:
Your two large sycamores in front,
Your southern Magnolia, rose garden, and orange tree in back,
(How I remember your fresh-squeezed orange juice, Grandma)
Still Stand.
And so, I ask the present owners and future buyers:
Please do not destroy them,
Let the trees remain.
Written in May 2018
You lived in your house for 60 years.
But then the buyers bought.
And the buyers destroyed.
I'm sure they called it interior renovation.
I call it destruction.
Now it's all modern and fancy inside.
And the outside?
The yards were streamlined, its curves straightened.
Your beautiful gardens perfectly manicured,
Now lost to the boredom and bland.
Fortunately, in my grieving for your Land,
For your Life,
And for your Memory, Grandma,
There is at least some small consolation:
Your two large sycamores in front,
Your southern Magnolia, rose garden, and orange tree in back,
(How I remember your fresh-squeezed orange juice, Grandma)
Still Stand.
And so, I ask the present owners and future buyers:
Please do not destroy them,
Let the trees remain.
Written in May 2018