Cold in winter’s granite gloom
The plaza in San Marco Square,
Where pigeons wait with heavy care
And lovers stroll in common fare.
Where clinging wounds listen still
To the daydreams of the past,
Seeping from a drama’s breath
That still charms the narrow way.
Centuries haze still drift on through
The haunted way of many hopes,
Where forever etched are silent names
Within the joy of an ill born shadow.
Fragmenting hearts to a flutter pulse
Uttering the majesty of what was lost,
To newly met lovers across the Bridge of Sighs
Where redemptive spirits await their warmth.