What light through yonder window breaks?
The artifice of all that’s fake.
An understated memory of love gone bad;
The window now shuttered and ivy clad.
Wherefore art thou young cavalier,
That you should rent such grief from here?
Fair Romieta; young Julio wandering woods so dark and strange,
In search of freedoms not yet given names;
Yet like seeds cast upon the breeze,
Your love escapes the hands of thieves,
Who would have you bound and cast aside,
Lest you break the Winged-Lion’s pride.
But times do pass, and history blossoms,
With the swell of change that you dreamed could happen.
Naïve, yet brave you were strong Nave, fair Maid,
Would that others be less afraid.

2 thoughts on “The Pride of Venice

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