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.