Walking with Machado
Walking
with Machado
To Pilar
There they were,
A giggle of schoolgirls
In their last year, I
suppose, before university,
Making their way up the steep
hill to the castle
In Soria, the city where the
poets lived.
And one with a book of poems
in her pocket,
Machado, of course,
For how could it be otherwise
So near the Duero?
They walked quickly after
lunch,
As only young people can,
For there was just one hour
Before the classes of the
afternoon began
In the tall, grey buildings down
below.
So by the castle ruins,
Halfway up the Sorian sky,
They stopped and opened the
book,
And then
They learned how life can be made
sad
By chance or by illness
Or just by the blindness of
men.
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