I miss the volcano
I miss the ashes,
clouds, stairs ...
I miss the flowers
whose colors bring
the precious objects in Sicily.
will be arriving in Rome
with tears in his eyes
with the hope of returning
and also review your beaches
of in front of me
low lights Fata Morgana
remained on Calabrian coast
land of my old,
with the spirit even to the empty
forces depleted by the height
loving in fear
of all your plays,
love your landscapes steep
with the sound of your people
and your music ministry:
rhythms of tambourines and flaute
in my heart
forever.
Goddess Bea 2010
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