Brussel

Brussel I dream of a river clear As a nun’s tears In a landscape of flowers. Bees, don´t sting Nestles is banned. Honeysuckles Is a dulcet word. I think of a woman who came to my village? Years ago. Her smile lingers Her laughter Alentejo wine Not the supermarket type With plastic top And fake labelling. The river of love Runs to Brussel. This is odd, Brussel Is a rain heavy place And little else. Except For wonderful chocolate And tasty beer.