Clutched to the spires of Rome
The old shores thrive
As a raving echo
Through his mind

Bound
To be lovingly cradled
To a satisfied rest
To his unburned prime

By day he pines
Deprived
Of his wartime fury
Of the towering
Plume and flame

Far from his pride
From Venetian roads
Left simmering in the heart
Of his formerly raging years