Taormina, tempo I

Steep the way to reach it,
Perilous for whom suffer the mountain,
But the sight fulfills what the symptom reduces. 

The mean street full of world, 
The store embellished by the place. 

Nothing can the noonday sun, 
Except reveal the forms of a seabed 
Which only the bather's whim can numb.

No surprise then if the pearl is nestled
Where the wrath of the volcano can hatch it.

But before the nearest star falls,
Taking back the coolers borrowed for the day,
The grenadine is like a remembrance,
The cannoli disappoint, but only by order.

The wine offered binds instead,
Fulfilling the wait for an echoes
That finds the patience to ask as much.

To Taormina, the tremendous sacrifice.
Cradling the broods that,
flying away, will thank the Volcano
For duels that prepare for exile.

A Volcano, ancient before the first man,
Father of rings too evil to be used,
Especially for who claim to dominate what should be worn.

On second thought...

Easy to get there, difficult to leave.
But the feat will be to regain the place

Where the new mingles with the old,
The past recognised himself in the present,
And the present follows, but without really knowing who.

by Giuseppe Grassi