Town Life


walking around Cascais
which consist of cobblestones
asphalted road and mad traffic
How I long to tread on the soft grass
rest under a tree, sit on a ******
warmed by the sun

to see wildflowers again
and not trite blooms in a *** or vase.
Inhale the air of the land
not sullied by diesel fume
the spring is passing me by, who knows
it might be the last one

set me frees to fly and not dally more
back to the rural Algarve where I was born
for the second time.
my feet are sore pavements too hard
and the cacophony of blaring horns
makes my head confused.