A POSTCARD FROM CRETE

YANNIS

True windows of the soul those eyes

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 silverfish that leapt and shone

and raki when the day was done.

of proud Maria's flashing eyes

and lustrous hair - his wedded prize

of three fine sons - but at what cost?

at the birth of last - Maria lost.

Yannis now with a 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.

'Kalinychta'He lifts his cane

and marches smartly up the lane.

kalinychta = Good Night.