that captivate and mesmerise.
His grey mustachios and hair
foretell of stories waiting there.
Of summer’s heat in childhood days
spent skylarking in sheltered bays,
of rock pools lapped by turquoise waves,
and hide and seek in limestone caves,
of youth spent on the storm-tossed seas
in open boats in winter’s freeze,
of silver fish that leapt and shone
and raki when the day was done.
Of proud Fotini’s flashing eyes
and lustrous hair - his wedded prize.
Of three fine sons - but at what cost?
At birth of last - Fotini’s lost!
Yannis now with saddened gaze
drifts in his mind to former days
till Stavros marches down the street,
(his voice arrives before his feet!)
Yannis rises to greet his friend.
“Yassos” he says “It’s not the end
but I must go now.” He lifts his cane
and marches smartly up the lane.
*“Kalinikta ~methabpio abprio!” *
*’ Good night – more tomorrow.’
N.B Yannis could speak no English and my Greek is practically non-existent so this is how I imagined his life to be.