Inside the Village House
By John Herlihy

We enter the house through a miniaturized door,
The sacred ground makes up the earthen floor.
The village house opened into another world,
From city life into the life of the village hurled.
We sit in the shade of the colonnade in a quiet nook,
The expanse of sky flowing overhead like a flowing brook.
The sky reaching down deep into the inner courtyard;
The scene before me as charming as a picture postcard.
The world of nature had marched right into the house;
The inner court alive with marvels, even a little mouse.
As I sat in the shadows cooled by the overhead fan,
I enjoyed feelings of enchantment I could hardly stand.
The grape vine crawled across an overhead trellised ceiling;
The lush green vine filled my heart with a pleasant feeling.
Clusters of ripening grapes reached down hanging low;
As I sat there, one bold grape even fell on my little toe.
The mother hen ran through the grass with her infant chicks;
Who followed her about, pecking for food like country hicks.
Ah, the rare emotions that arose in my nature-starved heart;
Led me to think this a scene from which I never wanted to part.
“Do you like our little village house,” the Grand Mufti asked.
“it’s not so little,” I said, hoping the moment may forever last.
And last it will within the extended shade of this simple poem,
How the poet found peace and tranquility far, far from home.