The old man with the kind face
came from Sardinia. He lived alone now,
stacking the logs for winter,
tending his garden. This summer
his Roma tomatoes had mildew,
but the other crops were fine,
and the gooseberries — such a harvest!
Smiling, he filled my water bottles —
his eyes moist as two green pools —
and pointed the way to Grachaux.
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