Elvira was walking her dog, a poodle, in a landscape
of rounded hills, when she fell into a cylindrical
borehole; her dog waited for her to come up again,
she didn´t, and since it was getting dark it ran home.
In the night, an almond tree grew out of the hole
it had white and pink flowers forever blooming.
In the morning people went looking for Elvira,
the dog led the way, and when they came to the tree
it sat down, wagged its tale and happily barked.
Elvira was never found. When the search was over
everyone walked home, but the dog stayed by the tree
only came at night to be fed; and people reckoned
it was the last place the mute had seen Elvira.
The dog was happy playing around the tree catching
falling petals when not snuggled up sleeping by its
trunk, people smiled and called the tree Elvira.
The faithful cur didn´t come home one evening it
had, just like Elvira, disappeared into the long night.
Beside the almond tree a miniature version grew, it
too flowered all year; between them gossamer full
of dawn pearls glittered.
