a poem of gratitude
I was fourteen when I first came home
to Italy, my culturally native country,
where I never had a warmer welcome,
Rome, Toscana, Venice and Verona
universally accepting me as one of theirs
and not just as a prodigal lost castaway
but as one flesh and blood with them;
and how I loved that suddenly found mother!
With her beauty, splendour, greatness, charm and kindness
I could never be more perfectly at home,
and so I turned into a good and faithful son
more frequently returning every year,
as there is nothing that goes deeper down your roots
than motherhood, when she is all ideal and spiritual.
Poetry by Christian Lanciai
Read 586 times
Written on 2007-09-11 at 13:15
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Mother Italy
I was fourteen when I first came home
to Italy, my culturally native country,
where I never had a warmer welcome,
Rome, Toscana, Venice and Verona
universally accepting me as one of theirs
and not just as a prodigal lost castaway
but as one flesh and blood with them;
and how I loved that suddenly found mother!
With her beauty, splendour, greatness, charm and kindness
I could never be more perfectly at home,
and so I turned into a good and faithful son
more frequently returning every year,
as there is nothing that goes deeper down your roots
than motherhood, when she is all ideal and spiritual.
Poetry by Christian Lanciai
Read 586 times
Written on 2007-09-11 at 13:15
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text|
Amanda K |
