Sailing with my love to the Italian Cinque Terre, we pass houses set into cliffs of many colours like an artists palate set on an azure sea. Old buildings washed by the sun, all life is here washing strung along the streets, among fishing nets and little boats tied up for the day. Sitting by the bay we have some wine and watch a groom carry his bride from the chapel into the sea laughing and embracing the moment.
Michael Cochrane ©
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem