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Dear Josephina,

 

Yesterday I have heard your breath,

Through the old timber which graciously supports your lungs,

Last night, when walking upstairs I heard whispers of your existence.

Those dusty windows that you hold as memory had recalled my own Josephina.

You, the same way as her - have sealed all those years within vitrines of urban window frames.

This outfit had allowed nomads seeking for a shelter to expose their goodies.

As a modern nomad, for a brief day, I have settled, looking for my own lost goodies.

Just behind your back, I have found those finite meadows.

Here,

I have brought you some buttercups.

If mixed with milk, it shall cleanse the essence.

Or at least my own Josephina believed in fairy tales.

Before I go, I must thank you for the support this old timber had provided.

For now, dear Josephina, enjoy the sunrays coming through your gracious windows.