(04 October 1943 / Germany)

The Tears Of Florence

(I dedicate this piece to my closest friend, Zaur Bakhramov)

Since childhood I had always dreamt
To see an ancient town,
A town in Etruria
Where splendid statues crown
Its churches, squares, building roofs
And bring it great renown.

And once I travelled to my friend,
He lives in Italy,
I told him of my childhood dream
And that I longed to see
The famous Piazza Senoria,
Its art of high degree.

Next day he said: “Get in the car,
Away we have to go”.
He drove so fast on the autobahn,
How long I didn’t know,
Went the Ligurian Mountains by,
Their peaks were white with snow.

We drove through tunnels, mountain roads,
Great beauty was around,
Fantastic views of Italy
That really can astound
With such a picturesque scenery,
Before I’d nowhere found.

The road sign said: 10 miles to Florence
Excited now was I,
But suddenly a lightning struck,
Dark blue became the sky,
And Florence shed its happy tears,
And Florence began to cry.

We dropped our things in a hotel
One aim was on our mind:
The Piazza Senoria there
We wanted first to find
And we went out into the rain
The old door closed behind.

We made our way through narrow streets,
Hard was the evening rain,
We had one umbrella for both of us
But we did not complain,
We hurried on, no time to lose,
“When I’ll be here again? ”

The tears of Florence got us soaked
But we finally found that square -
A brilliant masterpiece of art.
My words may seem unfair:
No other beauty made by man
With Florence can compare!

I looked into Perseus’s eyes
And he looked back in mine,
I swear his bronze face was live,
Unearthly and divine,
The genius who had sculptured him
Now rested in a shrine.

Next morning Florence ceased to cry,
It was a garish day,
She met me with a rain of tears,
Adieued with a sunny ray.
We crossed the Arno once again
And set out on our way.

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Comments (1)

There's a difference between being a 'sucker' and being a 'victim', Herbert. A 'sucker' is an idiot. A 'victim' isn't. G.