Thoughts of Italy

I walk on cobbled and chipped streets.
The smells and the sounds of Stresa and Baveno
on a warm Spring day, come back to me.

Prosciutto pizza with you under the
plain trees remind me of Lygon Street,
and I’m homesick for both.

A scarf of burnt orange moves in the breeze,
and the colour blends in with the architecture;
the sound of Paganini fades, and I’m alone.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s