-in the style of an Italian sonnet-
I speak the language that breaks the bones
of maidens, suitors and bright blue eyes
amongst the sunlit shores where romance dies
and hopes and dreams are shattered on the stones.
But to leave him for words and great unknowns
when Lady Love leaves paradise and flies
to Vigata, where sorrowed moonlight cries
for a maiden that he could once call his own.
Beneath hazy skies I lie cold and unaware
of bitter, twisted souls with passion lain
alongside all my love, yet warm and bare.
Alongside her, my love, if you could strain
to think of times I spat out holy care –
better to not have loved than loved in vain.
With references to Italian TV drama Il commissario Montalbano
