Bem na Porteira
Cristiano Quevedo
Right at the Gate
Circumstantial limits
For those living in a rough patch
In a shack made of raw earth
A meter or so from the ground
A couple of mud figurines
With patience, beak, and wing
Chose right at the gate
To build the dream of a home
The mud after the rain
Was enough for the whole place
A hose of good soil
Kneaded with the horse herd
Time brought clear days
And the construction was steady
Two weeks and the shack
Went from foundation to roof
The male carried tunes
For the sound of the fences
In the score of the yard
Announcing the newcomers
Every September morning
A new song would wake up
When the feathered female
Sang over the shack
Door facing the Sun
Sticking your face in the fight
And a bird's song
Calling the bars of the day
Because life has meanings
Where reason never tires
Of being reborn every day
Wherever there is hope
But right along with the rain
A troop of crusaders
Crowded right at the gate
Wanting to hit the road
And the rough patch, with a bang
Lost its tone and reason
And knocked down the little shack
Of earth and nest to the ground
And the troop crossed ahead
Without noticing what they did
Hoofprints and steps remained
Two dreams lost at once
And the resting mud patch
In the other rough patch at the gate
Seemed to be searching
For its companion in the distance
It took a while, but it sang again
With wings and beak wide open
When the couple met
By a cinnamon tree nearby
To build a new shack
In the same cycle of waiting
Far from the crossing of troops
In the next spring
Door facing the Sun
Sticking your face in the fight
And a bird's song
Calling the bars of the day
Because life has meanings
Where reason never tires
Of being reborn every day
Wherever there is hope
