Ferme de l'Abbaye

The torrent could just be heard

through the shuttered windows

in the old stone walls of the farm

where friars had kept the wine

of the abbey just above.

From the broad balcony

our children fed the chickens

scratching in the yard,

watched Joseph harness the mule,

herd cows into the field

to return again at night.

By day they played above,

small beneath the alp,

at night I heard them breathe

within the torrent's roar

and my heart stirred

to think of time to come

when they would know

the weight and power of stone,

of alp and torrent and vault,

hearing the unseen,

seeing the unheard.

©Terry Hodgson2025