Saturday, October 7, 2017

Outside A Railroad Station Coffeehouse Where Trains No Longer Run

Early autumn late afternoon 
In a light northerly breeze 
Under the centenarian 
Plane trees, we pass 
The time sipping 
Coffee and keeping 
An eye out 
For the next crumpled, 
Crablike leaf to fall 
And scuttle past us when 
Just across the other 
Side of the rusted derelict 
Tracks, we catch sight of 
The black-garbed village priest 
Slowly making his way, pushing 
His paraplegic son along. 


  1. Vassilis, I've not commented in a long time just because I've been swamped with busyness. But I can't resist this one. Oh my. It is eerily beautiful. Every turn of it unexpected and RIGHT. Thanks for your ongoing revelations!

  2. No need to apologize, friend--we've all been swamped by that bugaboo from time to time; BTW, I should be the one to thank YOU for stopping by and leaving this generous note re this piece and for your frequent "eavesdropping"!


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