The woman who comes and clean the house
once a week, has a voice like a foghorn, she speaks with
a Gypsy accent I have to guess what she says,
anyway she ignores me when I say: no need to water the plants
there will be rain tomorrow; well, it is morrow now.
Now rain has fallen seraph-like clouds drift about as they should
have a day off and decide to have a lazy day.
The sun is up to modest now in October, tries to make up for
the summer when it forced me indoors for two months.
The cleaner has tremendous energy, up at dawn and works all day,
my wife has given her a lot of clothes which she and her
husband, a used car dealer, sells at the market on Sundays
When hearing her voice – and don't I hear- she brightens up my day
like sunlight on a grumpy day, and I think she's blessed.