To The Etruscan Poets

Dream fluently, still brothers, who when young
Took with your mother's milk the mother tongue,

In which pure matrix, joining world and mind,
You strove to leave some line of verse behind

Like still fresh tracks across a field of snow,
Not reckoning that all could melt and go.

by Richard Wilbur

Comments (1)

as a poet born and living in Tuscany.. I can say to be among the Etruscan Poets.. :)