In the shadow of the Alhambra, where the walls are painted red,
I sit beneath the ancient trees, where soft leaves overhead
Create a haven from the sun, fierce in Andalusian skies,
While tourists trudge in scorching heat, with sweat in tired eyes.
A coffee cup within my hand, its warmth a gentle grace,
The flavour mingles on my tongue, a slow and sweet embrace.
The cobblestones beneath my feet, worn smooth by countless years,
Whisper tales of history, of triumphs and of tears.
The distant hum of busy streets, the chatter and the clink,
As travellers seek the storied past, to drink and deeply think.
Yet here within this shaded square, a world away it seems,
From all the rush and flurry, from their sunburnt, fleeting dreams.
The scent of jasmine in the air, a soft and fragrant breeze,
Carries with it melodies, of flamenco and of ease.
The Alhambra watches from its height, majestic, proud, and grand,
A sentinel of ages past, in this timeless, tranquil land.
I sip my coffee, slowly, savouring the moment’s calm,
The world outside a blur of heat, here a gentle, cooling balm.
In the shadow of the Alhambra, where the past and present blend,
I find a peaceful refuge, in this square, a faithful friend.
Let the tourists chase the sun, with maps and fervent strides,
I’ll stay within this leafy nook, where Andalusia hides.
In the shadow of the Alhambra, where history and comfort meet,
I’ll drink my coffee, dream my dreams, in this shaded, cool retreat.
The Poems I Never Wrote 