Marsala where gold-edged dark clouds
Shadow an irridescent sea,
Phoenician, Roman, Bourbon, Moor
Left each a wound on Sicily.
Polished the ancient limestone streets
With centuries of passing feet;
In church, baroque-encrusted art
Shows Mary wounded to the heart.
Yet, hidden in a dusty lane
Behind a lofty iron gate,
Measured by palms and weathered urns
Lies Signor Sala's calm estate.
Tread past the house through winding way
Past quiet pond and purple blooms
To where an eccentric folly stands
With tiled floor and furnished rooms.
Venetian turrets, gothic arch:
This is called the Badia Tower -
A refuge from all worldly noise
Set among cactuses and flowers.
Here the lazy lizard runs
At the approach of lovers' tread;
Here the dark irridescent bee
Hangs on the flower where he's fed.
Here do lovers come to hide
From the world's insistent hiss;
Here is where they learn to BE
And seal their presence with a kiss.
Martin Dace 2009
Content copyright © Martin Dace 2009: you must contact me for permission if you wish to publish or reproduce my poems or images. Permission will usually be granted for web use provided my authorship and copyright is acknowledged and a link back to my site is provided.