Venice 1825

The old lady sat by her window.
As always looking over saint Marks square.
It was her view her memories her Venice.
She had seen him first from this very spot.
So many long years ago when she was a girl.
He was so beautiful she took the warmth
from the memory it turned into a smile.
Just a fleeting glance of him yet
she remembered the emotion.
She knew he was to be hers only hers.
She saw his routine everyday he would
feed the countless pigeons in the square.
She was remiss to feign a vapor
Pretending to fall
yet he lifted
her up like a feather.
She was in his arms for the first time
and the ice melted between them
He was a musician and composer
He worked at the opera
He wrote her a lovely aria
just for her
she loved it above all else.
She listened now as it melted the time passed
So lovely so much how he felt for her.
O Mio Babbino Caro *
*The soprano touched her heart.
All his love was transcribed
in the heavenly music.
He became her lover and then her husband.
Years and years later
when they had|
grown old together.
and he departed
to the eternal place.
She moved back to Venice.
The same room where she first saw him.
Her room her life her destiny.
As an old lady
She would spend
the spring mornings
looking out of the same window
where he met her
in the Venice square.
And the music
he wrote for her would
play in her heart.
She knew that far away
In his illuminated heaven.
He could see her and would know
She was always his.