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.
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!
ReplyDeleteNo 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"!
ReplyDelete