The sharpened stone of summer steps,
Hewn from the Tuscan crust,
Lies cool in terracotta shade
And wind-fetched, thin saharan dust.

Soft footsteps on a flagstone floor,
A sweep of homesewn skirt,
Cool churches where our shadows died
And freed our dreams to dance and flirt.

We yearn for birdsong, peace and sleep
For leather, wood and wine -
A life where rosebuds mark our path,
Lived in a straight unwavering line.