A Wizened Woman Poem by Elia Michael

A wizened woman old and weary
Breathes the al-fresco fig-scented air
In a Xylophagou perivoli
Where sunlight caresses her hair

A wizened woman old and weary
Has returned to the village of her birth
She leans against her niece's old fig tree
And her face begins to show signs of mirth

Her thoughts have regressed to some distant time
Nearly a century ago when she
A child played in air scented with thyme
Running in her father's perivoli

A wizened woman old and weary
Breathes in the sweet rejuvenating air
The sun makes her countenance cheery
And I swear she's younger now standing there