This story is part of the literary competition created by In Trieste magazine “Winter in Trieste” which was open to all writers living in Trieste.
by Maria Skua
Drip-drop
Drip-drop
Cold wind dances around the city,
Rain flutters about with pity,
Drip-drop
In each and every drop,
A silent silver song decided to hop,
It flooded the ears of the people,
The Hailstorm will never come,
It teaches across the city,
From restaurants to the steeple,
This year’s winter won’t freeze,
Some hearts might be healed,
Others broken or tattered,
But this year’s winter won’t freeze.
The people of Trieste,
They’re hearts filled with hope,
Others might as well mope,
But when the silver song sings,
The warm pleasure swings.
“Mother, mother! Look what I found!” A young and naive child wondered about.
The mother, with full shock on her face, turned and smiled with grace.
“That my dear, is an old poem that the people of Trieste adore, it tells of the neverending story of the snow that will never come.”
“What do you mean, mama?” The frightened child wondered, “ I want to believe in snow and ice and ice cold air,” he whimpered.
“Some things, my dear, must just be left uncovered, for centuries. Maybe, one day, the song will break, and we will regain snow.”
One day.
