Vino Rosso Della Guerra

I
My father spoke of eating rats
to stay alive in World War I
as he lay in bloodied fields
while in the distance
he watched the vineyards glinting in the sun.

His mother had wailed as she watched him go
while his father’s bony finger
traced a purple cross

bare feet wedded to the grapes

marching
marching
marching

to the beat of the drums

II

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poem by Allesandra Patti
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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