As a spring evening settles in
Our hamlet, mules are eased
Of their harness, supper wafts
And mingles with toil of soil.
Dogs awake, busy tailed and
Bright and voices of greetings,
Even when afar, sounds near.
A loaf, cheese and wine on my
Kitchen table and as darkness
Knocks on the cottage’s door
A whisper drapes itself around
My shoulders, tells me of love
Gone by – Bitter harvest is my
Name.