Oh mother, how did we get here?
Weren't we just in the garden laughing?
Our tiny feet shocked by your playful garden hose.
You laughed, we laughed and tulips smiled.
Hand on hip, our Italian mother happy.
Barefoot too, you soaked the grateful garden.
A vibrant wild paradise, an Alpine celebration.
The sky was so blue then, how did we get here?
How you missed your Italian world.
A Venetian maiden far from the village square.
I would only fail in re-telling that bittersweet tale.
Best to grow a garden of my own.
I take a small comfort in believing that.
We had a secret language that made you less alone.
We would whisper, point and you would laugh to tears.
Transported for a moment to an Italian cafe.
This is a beautiful poem Edmund! I will comment more later. I can imagine the scene in my mind... Your beautiful Italian mother with her children in the garden on a warm summer day... Hose and all... You've conveyed so much with your words...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I had to come back and read this again in honor of mother's day. Love this poem Edmund.