OUR LAND

We went up the hill to view our land-

shabby, scant fields, stones, olive trees.

Vineyards stretch down to the sea. A little fire

is smoking near the plough. With grandpa's clothes

We’ve made scarecrows for the jackdaws. Our days set out

in search of a little bread and much sunshine.

A straw hat glimmers under the poplar trees

The cock is on the fence. The cow is in the yellow.

How was it that we set our house and life in order

with a stone hand? On our door lintels

soot has gathered,year after year,from Easter candles-

tiny black crosses the dead have traced

on their return from the Resurrection. This land is much loved

with patience and with pride. Every night from the dry well

the statues come out cautiously and climb the trees.