Mater Dolorosa

The swan-necked head lay on the white cushions, silver fence, and a gentle smile hovered in his eyes, the cheeks still smooth, the mouth serene. Not even a sigh or a moan revealed the long ordeal of a lifetime: the little hand was looking for my head in a silent caress of blessing. "Why - he asked me - is your face pale?" » Surprised, I remained silent. But he didn't insist. And the warm breath of his sweet affection even of every pain it soothed the torment. Now I search for the scant words, but in vain, my lost Mother, the light caresses and, deep down in the secret of my soul, the clear light of your blind eyes.

 

Poetry by

Lea Luzzati Segre Sorrowful Mother

 

 

Even organized by: Ombre D'Arte, Associazione Culturale

Location: Villa Molin

Model: Lucretia Von Denaly

 

All right reserved - Marco Rossi ©

Do not use or repost it without my permission

Done