A man drinks from the fountain in the middle of the grand Italian square, he is standing in rugged cloth with unkempt hair, thinking of a time when he once ‘afore was here, the party continued all night, every kind of folk came, he saw lights of fire, sounds of laughter waves of cheer, when he once before was here, now there is silence and not a gleer.
A kiss ‘da ‘una bellissima signorina’, mumma so proud, tears from her rosy cheeks prompting out loud, “stai attento figliolo”, pappa’s little prayer, a hard worked convocation from this happy little crowd, a boy becomes a man, on to the enemy shroud, a last faint picture of a hopeful crowd
Thirty years had gone drifting through the shadow of his past, returning to drink a long awaited thirst at last, to finally breathe in peace, releasing the catharsis of a long awakening, the charming serenity of this lovely ‘bella città ’ the warming of his heartfelt repression. the scars of deep digression, an end of mournful depression.