Brussel

I dream of a river clear
As a nun’s tears
In a landscape of flowers.
Bees, don´t sting
Nestles is banned.
Honeysuckles
Is a dulcet word.
I think of a woman
who came to my village?
Years ago.
Her smile lingers
Her laughter
Alentejo wine
Not the supermarket type
With plastic top
And fake labelling.
The river of love
Runs to Brussel.
This is odd, Brussel  
Is a rain heavy place
And little else.
Except
For wonderful chocolate
And tasty beer.