Liguria is a graceful land.
The burning rock, the polished clay
quicken with the wine leaves in the sun.
The olive tree is a giant. At springtime
everywhere the ephemeral mimosa appears.
Shadow and sun perform in succession
along those deep valleys
which hide from the sea,
along the paved roads
that climb up, through fields of roses
wells and parceled lands,
skirting farms and walled vineyards.
In that arid land the sun crawls
upon the stones like a serpent.
There are days when the sea
is a garden in full bloom.
Messages are borne in the wind.
Venus is once again born
by the gusts of the mistral.
Oh churches of Liguria, like ships
about to be launched!
Open to the winds and waves
Ligurian graveyards!
A red sadness colors you
when in the evening, similar to a flower
that is wilting, the great light
fades away and dies.