Where mountain ridges are desolated grey,
dusty roads bend through a sun scorched valley
and summer rivers run dry under stone bridges,
hides a small village where fragrant flowers
hang from balconies of sand coloured houses.

There the street is a Via which leads to the Piazza
in front of an old Palazzo, where a fountain stands
which once has known falling water and beneath
a starlit velvet sky, in where the moon hangs high,
music and laughter ripple through the summer night.

4 Replies to “Solerino”

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