There was a gentle swishing sound
But not a soul, no one around
That little lane in Armenoi
Was empty, far as I could see.
But I could hear the swishing still
And not so faint, from up the hill.
Then there it was at last in sight!
Small and round and very bright
Exuding dignity and poise –
The author of the funny noise.
From round the corner, off some tree
An orange rolled on down to me
At stately speed, that hadn’t grown
For friction with each tiny stone
Had balanced out the steeper slope.
So did I try to catch it? Nope!
I would have once, with youthful ease
But now my geriatric knees
Are not so keen on stooping low
And so I simply watched it go
On down to where I saw it meet
An intersecting cobbled street
Into the mouth of which it veered
And then in darkness disappeared.
There is a dip, I hope it slowed
To not get juiced out on the road.
