by Dominik Rustici   

I am but the ghost of those men

whom Erato loved then.

And I welcome you to this place

which perhaps gave birth to your race.


Here are children running amok

There are girls in state of shock.

Pray you as our church bell ring

listen to the melodious virgins sing.


And when in the throng you see a thief,

Do not let this give you grief.

Sip instead the icy waters of our fountains

take in the majesty of our mountains.


Here you are among strangers and kin,

so let the celebration begin

see the old church all afire,

let your soul be filled with desire.


There are rides for your little queens,

There is a concert for your teens.

For the elders there is a band,

at times the best in the land.


Admire the orderly procession

with pilgrims begging intercession

from that Lady so severe and serene,

Who, we know, will surely intervene.


See now the sky all aglow

With grenades descending slow.

Store these beautiful memories

which will gladden your reveries.


And when you decide to depart,

take of this place a part,

Take the best take itís calm,

which will be for you a balm.


So when you are old and gray

think of this place I pray.

it certainly will ease your pain

and your life will not have been in vain.

                                                          Z M