End of the European Adventure

Café umbrellas blooming (sunny days);

the gabled houses leaning eave to eave;

these lofty steeples watching maze-like ways

and cobbled fountain squares—how can I leave?

The castles standing lonely, hillsides strewn

with sheep; the mountains’ shawls of mist and snow;

the rustic doorways framing stars and moon

and shadowed cypress, olive groves below;

medieval city walls and Roman baths

in crumbled ruins; art and music born

and raised sublime; the bird- and brook-sung paths

through ancient forests—oh! for these I’ll mourn,

for now it’s time to turn and time to pack.

(I’ll nurture dreams for joyful journey back.)