Under the mountains’ battlements, the pinnacles,
The weathered crags worn to bishops’ mitres by the scouring winds,
Past walls red-garlanded or emerald,
Studded with sapphire points of Morning Glory,
Praiano waits between three tunnels,
Strung like a necklace along the sea’s shore
And climbing on narrow steps that twist and wind
Up from the mountain’s foot to holy grounds.
Below, towers, battered by winter, smiling in the sun,
Give shelter to the boats that come and go,
Rocked by white-tipped waves or lulled in placid calm,
For work, for pleasure, all in care of saints
Whose churches guard the coast: St Luca from above
And chiesa San Gennaro almost at the sea.
And on a summer evening,
Below the road where buses edge and blare,
The piazza is a magic place, striped by light,
Crossed by long shadows,
Where all the children play their happy games,
Under their patron saint’s approving gaze.
Janice Windle
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/italian-collection-praiano/
