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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.



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