once again
¶ 1
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Milan, a mournful cemetry, not glowing;
She wept for the young kings
Who had returned to their only castle to sob.
The scent of the night drifted into those tearful hearts,
Whisper of the Milanos shattered Europe,
Wails of the Italians disturbed the huge space,
Cries of the believers deafened the stars and moons.
An unforgetable memory within the country had revived,
Long to end, yet to die;
The oblivion of yesteryear’s truimph and joy, lurking in the air
As the ghost of misery and shame, returned to haunt.
Milan, now, the sinking land, drowned in her very own tears,
Yearning to taste the next magenta droplet of succulent rain.
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