The dusty road winds steeply                                                                                                             Up the terraced hillside between                                                                                                       Olive groves of ancient trees                                                                                                         With thick trunks, split and twisted,                                                                                                 Their grey foliage swaying in the breeze.

A ruminating donkey idly munching dry grass                                                                               Disturbs the silence with the tinkling of his bell.                                                                             Sweet blossoms perfume the evening air                                                                                         The heady scent drifts across the stillness                                                                                       Spreading the sensation that all is well.

And there, clinging to the top of the hill, a village                                                                           Where houses of golden stone glow warmly in the setting sun.                                                     And standing proudly on the summit high,                                                                                       Is an ancient Monastery,   like a benevolent father                                                                       Guarding a much loved child, keeping a watchful eye.

This place, remote on a hilltop that seems to touch the sky,                                                         This place that looks down and views you from on high,                                                           This place is Valldemosa.


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