Sometimes you get the things you long for back:
Sun-ripened figs exploding on the tongue,
So luscious long ago when I was young,
Deep red inside, and outside new-bruise black.
Ah, distant, lost, and glorious the days
The long-remembered taste — nostalgia, pah!
My solitary youth, so cold, so far,
When now is better in a million ways.
The friends I have, and those I hope to meet,
And books, and beauty, good work being done,
Change for the better, hope, some battles won,
This meaty ripe-fig taste, right now, so sweet.
Across the plain, the prospect of mountains
And happiness, with friendship and fountains.
3rd September 2014, Rome/Florence/Bologna
