The shutters drawn against the afternoon heat
We lie looking up at ancient hewn cypress beams
Supporting neat rows of heavy terracotta tiles
And the chandelier, so fine and clean it gleams
Our Canadian bedroom’s white plaster ceiling
Seems so bland — utility for utility’s sake —
So dairy drawn pale like hospital broth when
The patient needs smiles and chocolate cake
The old villa’s walls are pale ochre blocks
Hewn centuries ago by ancestors of the men
Who showed up this morning to restore
The baths at the back to their glory again
Around us are grape vines and olive groves
And all down the valley rows of tall cypress
The rooster squares off as we venture for firewood
When it come to his hens he is never so careless
If we belong and as humans we do
But as part of the history we only pass through
