The Trees Of Crocefieschi Poem by Denys E. W. Jones

Walk the streets of Crocefieschi,
Listen to the speech -
You will surely hear Italian, sometimes Genoese.
There's no doubt which country you're in, this is Italy.

Sample food in Crocefieschi,
Trofie, pesto, cima.
Or a piece of polpettone, slice of pasqualina.
Only one place you could be - in Liguria.

Venture some yards from the village,
Get among the trees -
Sycamore, horse chestnut, apple,
Hazel, ash, plum, beech.

Now in this Ligurian heartland,
Not so far from fertile farmland,
Deep in green and windswept woodland,
Feels as if you are in England.

Folk here speak a foreign language,
And they have their own cuisine,
But I don't care one iota,
When I see the trees.

For the trees of Crocefieschi,
To my everlasting joy,
Are the same I knew in England,
When I was a boy.


2/8/18
Denys E. W. Jones