This afternoon scents of burning leaves
dampened by steady rain
and strong tobacco smoked by the digger of graves,
unpicked grapes
and damp olive trees

This afternoon sees close shut windows,
eternally grieving old women in black
praying to a God
that has done them no favours,
candle light and a tired padre.

It sees a funeral cortege
like a flock of ravens
ponderously walking to the cemetery
where five more holes
gapes toothless to the sky;
this is not a good season for the elderly.