It seems fitting somehow
That on this last night before I leave
I walk along Acropoleo street
Where I walked that first morning
After my arrival.
To enjoy once more the old houses
Tucked among the new
And view all the hills Athens has encompassed
(I think we must have eaten atop each one)
There’s the house where the parrot
Shatters the morning quiet –
Except on Sunday
When only the bells call out
And I meet the lady in black
Climbing to her church up high.
The buses lunge up from Papandreos street
Like huge leviathans from the deep
To congregate at the corner
It is hard to leave this place.
I may never be back again.
-Ethel L. Ingalls
September 1, 2007