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ANCIENT BULWARK: A poem dedicated to Pope Francesco

By Franca Colozzo

Lonely in the sea, averse to storms,

ancient bulwark I'm going to gaze

when the turmoil quiets of the waves

and of the sky, a calm mirror appears.

Then a choir of seagulls rises,

whose cries tear my heart apart.

There is a lack of fish in the seabed,

only plastic emerges everywhere.

Now I remember past seasons

while I am intent on observing

algae, shells, and sea creatures ...

So remote that time seems,

I never saw in my life years

so terrible and sudden destructions.

Swift is the wind of decay,

much more than the coexistence

of an upright world, prone to reason,

of Pace true builder in this season.

Pope Francesco.

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