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.)