My very first poem was for You:
I wrote it for your name day
And You were so glad and proud
Of your little, witty daughter;
Then they went the days of fight,
But no one ever understood me
More and better than You
And no one ever conforted You
More than your younger, stubborn
Daughter, even when I left
Our Home and our town
In search of something
I could never find in Italy;
And in your final days, in spite of
Distance, we were as close
As we were when I was just
A little, witty and quirky child
Writing a poem to her Dad.
Al mio Papà, 19 marzo 2024
To my Daddy, 19th March 2024
(C) Vera da Pozzo - Italy is Mine... and It owes me a Living
I drew Saint Joseph and Baby Jesus on my diary this morning, after a walk in my favourite Parisian park, thinking of my beloved Daddy, who would have loved to come to Paris and have a walk in the park as we did in our town, when I was a child.
Before my promenade, I lit a little blue candle for Saint Joseph and my dear Daddy.
Papà, ti voglio bene.
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