Even as I stood there thinking about this tiny cabin I can imagine
the whispers of father to mother as he came home late from the cane fields.
The tiny windows would have been wooden shutters then,
were opened to catch a cool breeze and a soft whisper of the winds
rolling over the tops of hundreds of arceas of cane
always entertaining them as they sat at suppertime.
A simple life was then filled with all their needs.
These tiny walls kept them safe and together.