Father Longing

Little houses on the slopes
in the night
flickering stars
amongst the wilderness
wooden colorful temples
to the island's history
a guitar cries sweet melodies
wrinkle fingers
wise melodious voice
singing songs from yesterday
sitting on the balcony
longing
of kids playing in the front yard
and feasts in the batey
but children are gone
and grew family
and barely they come
lovely wife brews dark coffee
staring out the window
there many more lights
blinking in the city
where her heart has gone
some day they will return
maybe next Christmas.