By Prof. Francesca Corrao

Children, my beloved child

Love your land, when it is wild

As its rivers

are your veins

for its waters

are your blood

and its dark trees

are your black hair

and the white skin

is its fine dust

where you trample on it

there you’ll rest in it

from there you will be born again

fresh flowers of the meadow.

Remember:

in this world everything

is bound with tiny string

invisible but as strong as silk

pure and white as pure mother’s milk

that embraces you as a glove

an ever stronger hug of love