A sorrowful woman,
fully clad in black,
riding the back
of a Mykonos mule.
Too weary for a wave,
too tired for a full yiasas,
just one raised finger,
and a barely audible yia..
Perhaps merely elderly,
surely a widow,
but indications of
an incurable illness,
one part disease,
nine parts melancholy.
No sorrow or regret,
nothing universal about her,
simply a person,
patiently waiting
for the end.
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