The bells once rung now have ceased.
The toil of peasants in uneasy peace.
Eyes look in hope towards the east.
Where still proclaim the eternal feast.
A journey west, then south, then east.
Where ships await moored for a lease.
A journey filled with tears in eyes.
To bear us to where the Son did rise.
Leaving behind hearth and home.
Gone what was, we are forced to roam.
No comfort in cleric pride,
We seek for that which is denied.
With heavy hearts yet full of hope.
Observed by those upon the cope.
With sadness filing every fiber,
We set off to recross the Tiber.
TB
