I moved in to the housse next door,
Into the semi-detached double storey,
And that was the beginnibg of my story,
Of long wintry nights, chilly,
I saw them through the stained kitchen window,
The mother and her kids, I thought she was a widow,
The vision was clear, I was so near.

Our food smells wafted and greeted each other,
We only glanced and looked waway from each other,
Over steaming cups of coffee or roobois,
Each morning our faces beamed to the sun,
Strengthened by soups brewed last night,
The wall dividing us served not its purpose,
For us there was no purpose tp propose,
A friendship nor dare to care for each other.

The summer rain came with the heat,
QAnd thawed our iciy hostility away,
To pave way for heated silexnt arguments over nothibg,
The drops obscured our view and deafened our ears,
Drumming hard on our verandah walls,
equally getting punished for being silly to each other
The mother and her kids, me and my ego.

The following day the mother was not there,
I felt bad, I feared for the worse,
And never saw her and her kids,
For the grass had grown too high neglected,
As our friendship that was never there,
We could not spy on the other no more,
Then,
It was blown away, the grass dry,
And I saw her and her kids the mother,
A daughter my age and three sons,
Through parted curtains, hesitant eyes,
Expectant to swee me well,
My heart leapt with joy,
As they stood like for a picture,
That I took with my mind,
I felt like going to say hello,
But I blushed and didn't.