A Poem: Cloistered

While waiting out the rain before leaving the Basilica of Santa Croce in Florence, I sat outside waiting for it to let up before leaving. I ended up writing a poem while sitting there, so figured I’d post it. First poem I’ve written in a number of years.


Rain falling heavily on roses.
I sit in the cloister watching.
as it falls loudly on old stone.
Reminded of rain hitting the tin roof
of an old barn
on lazy afternoons with my grandfather.
My gaze drifts upwards to the cross
atop the cloister. And the clouds.
It is peaceful here on this Florentine afternoon.
Perhaps, for this one long moment,
it is peaceful everywhere.



  1. Lovely! How grand to take/make/have the time for reflection and then take the time to memorialize that time. Ekphrastic, appropriately, considering the place and the beautiful image.

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