There is a breeze
Also across the tops of the palm trees
The piano bar music steps, strolls, meanders
Smoothly over the seafood restaurant tables
The water is cold
Not bloody-cold, as in Kos I grant you
But the pool is cold nonetheless
For such a wimp of a man as I
The machine made Americano
Is bitter, not sweet, nor delicate
Fortunately it is only 0.15 litre
So not too too much to drink, or to throw away
There has been rain
I don’t think I told you
It was on the way here
As we walked up the hill
But we pressed on
In the almost certain knowledge
That the sun would shine again
That the good times, they would return
