That little plant that stands by the door
Flowers on shelves and the counter
and petals on the floor
Old chalk sketchings poster the walls
Stares both hard and soft enamor us all
A little silver tin of orange chocolates
Refilled every time I am back again
For two soft kisses on cheeks of both me and them
and long wooden table etched with age
where crumbs disappear like magic,
or a quick sweep of the hand
Glass jars filled with pasta and sugar and sand
Lemon on the kitchen top and in the breeze
and red flowers on the terrace stare at the sea
The sea that is small and encompassed by land
and surrounded by sharp peaks
water cradled by a hand
Books and papers stacked all around
Not touched in ages
But found in the sound-- of the
words that so beautifully roll off the tongue
Of two lovely people,
who will remain unsung.