There is a little piece of Spain at large in Limassol;
You find him on the beach or in his home
Immersed in caring activities.
Juan, with his deep brown eyes a fire
With passion; his Spanish heritage
 
 A strong monarchist is Juan Zapata.
He tells with pride of great Spanish artists;
Then his dark eyes flash with fury, at past historic injustices.
 
Observe him walking briskly and neatly
His trim body tanned by Cypriot sunshine;
He can talk the hind legs off a donkey,
But often thoughtful, deep and solitary.
 
How often I find my arms around him
Whilst he creates his culinary masterpieces.
I feel his strength, hear his chortle in his throat;
Then he laughs his laugh, which is infectious.
 
Juan, where are you now? You are in deep thought I see.
But I remain silent, reluctant of disturbing your reverie;
For it won’t be long before there are eruptions
Reminiscent of the ones that changed forever, Lanzarote.