Long before she turned her pen
to vampires and such,
A favorite author wrote a book
that I enjoyed so much.
It told a tale of long ago.
In Venice it was set.
Through operatic landscape,
this text of hidden threat
transported me to sites that I
could visualize and tread.
I felt the cobbles 'neath my feet.
I knew the sense of dread.
Relationships and champions,
villains and their prey
existed there within the pomp
of opera's early days.
The voices, costumes, schemes and trysts
entangle and engross
the reader in this medieval
tapestry morose.
Although the atmosphere was grim,
and lighter moments sparse,
Ann Rice's 'Cry To Heaven'
was a lyric tour de farce.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem