Cretan Shepherds

Beneath mandila furrows
Sun squinting memories reside
And images of black provide
A brotherhood of mountain pride.

All hairy faced and raki eyed
You strut a slow but princely gait
And know that all the world will wait
Now that your presence sets debate.

And so you shepherds congregate
With such great peacock-like profile,
You bunch so matey, so tactile,
In unsophisticated style.

Thus ever flows eternal trial,
The confluence of East and West,
A perfect symbiotic test
Of custom, culture and conquest.

For now the shepherd has progressed,
His TV set has pride of place
He's in the 20th century race
And four-wheel drive is commonplace.

His wife even has factory lace,
Though lamb, please God,
Will stay the same,
It may go by another name,
But shepherds will retain their fame.

And Oh the folly, Oh the shame
Should mavro turn another shade,
Should shepherds take another trade,
Should raki turn to lemonade.

For all things lanate never jade,
Your studded shirt and black Levis
Keep dark as moonless winter skies
The old cut diamond in your eyes.

(Mandila - a Cretan scarf.
Raki - clear white spirit
Mavro - Cretan for black)