Florentine Memory
That day in Florence I strolled
through the Loggie degli Uffizi
on a cold sulpherous morning
where light grew yellow
and knew our love was decaying.
City of romance and culture,
city of broken hearts
the Arno believed it true
as I crossed the Ponte Vecchio.
Infinite sadness
without your smile
heading to the Piazza di Santa Croce,
stylish Florentines, the smell of cigarettes.
Florence is alone
for this sombre scene
as winter's snow drifts across
the bridge of our aching hearts.
(c) JJ
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