Two little girls as the sun was dropping

Came from the first hut, a mile away;

They left me their gifts and without stopping

Hurried for home in the last flame of day.


The one brought tortillas wrapped in a tatter

Of kerchief as weathered and orange as the sky,

The other a cluster of cosmos and madder

Picked from the meadow the trail goes by.


In one hand for the body, two for the heart,

I stand on the edge of my stout wall of stone

Watching two little girls who swiftly depart

In the distance and darkness . . . until I’m alone.