Once when  
I lived in the deep countryside
Of Algarve come spring
And knew of every tiny village
When seeing me, the dwellers waved
The strange foreigner is here
It will be summer after all.
I had many friends back then and drank
Coffee with sturdy farmhands.
I will not be there this year, will they miss me?
Perhaps at dusk, someone will say
They saw me riding by and take it as
A good omen