Dialect Poetry of Southern Italy (Italian Poetry in Translation Book 2)

of timeless history,
and in the hollow,
worm eaten trunk I hear the soft lament
of rabbits who refuse to feed themselves.
A tree of peace is what you called me once.
At Easter time you came and broke my branches
to soak them in the water blessed by God.
And in the hands of your unblemished children
I let white orange blossoms come to bloom.
─ Distressing sight of a poor lamp aflickering ─
I fed dark shadows on the central altar
to dry the tears of our own Mournful Mother.