Olive Grove

Trees bent yet health Sea-view but sea Away three kilometers. In the distant fog of ten kilometers A light-house oil-fuelled Begins work early in late dusk Turns on slow As everything is there Including an aged donkey drawing owner and cart home Before deep dusk becomes a lighter Night. And the bats already black hairy and circling From the initial few dozens multiply. Youth goes hand in hand with poverty here but with health ok: poverty marks the dry fields lean trees thin as siren ghosts. A girlish voice sings sensuously And with cadences. The donkey sudden stops with every song.