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Poem

The lady sits in her black dress
Her back to the white washed wall
Such a contrast like typed words on a page
She tells you her story without a sound
Husband gone, died but fourty years before
(She will mourn but another fourty more)
Children have all deserted, jumped off the island
Agriculture has no future for a medical degree
Chairs sat empty yet organised around her
As if they once had been filled with purpose
A smile, the only entrance fee to her hospitality
A million wishes granted inside a clear liquid bottle
Yamas, Yasas, Na ci calla
Sweet oranges she peels to bid you on your way
She hopes their golden juices might tempt you back
But her heart as dark as her dress knows you won't
And so she waits on the next group to empty
To find her, discover and applaud her
A quaint break from the ancient ruins that slowly devour her

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