A YELLOW HOUSE IN THE MIDDLE OF A FIELD
In the middle of a field a yellow house,
a yellow house in the middle of a field.
They found the paint in a store,
and got the salty sand from the sea.
The house stands, the wind blows,
the wind blows, the house stands.
The house sails on the grass,
the wind cleaves the grass.
It’s a trick, they say,
there’s no house like that.
The road winds, the days pass,
a woodpecker pecks on a trunk.
A horse goes about the house,
bees buzz, and a bumble bee too.
The elder blossoms at the door,
its leaves are shed in autumn.
And when twilight falls
a fish walks in the house,
the house is then a ship
a sea wind whirls in the chimney.
The birds migrate to the south,
the owls doze in the forest.
It’s a trick, they all say,
there’s no house like that.
The horizon is seasick,
the clouds lick the salt.
In the middle of a field a yellow house,
a yellow house in the middle of a field.