Homage to a young poet

In a frame hanging in the guest restroom of my in-laws apartment, typed on a piece of paper decorated by my wife when she was a child with undulating lines and pastel colors, this poem beguiles me to fly to Provence, whose colors, sounds, shapes and smells were so well captured by a 12 or 13 year old poet, my wife's brother ...

Provence

Red tile roofs and an azure sky
Life is a cypress standing green and high
To the roll of the breakers and the mistral's cry.

Ancient towers and a light brown hill
Pleasure is a peasant who's drunk his fill
To the pleasant flutter of an old gray mill.

Jagged cliffs and gnarled vines
Joy's making merry with a glass of wine
To the song of a child in the warm sunshine.