We had come to Umbertide
fleeing from our houses
prey to the terrors of war.
We thought that here we could spend
a quieter life,
one free from "tribulations".
Instead, for us
life became even more hopeless.
We shall never go back to the towns
and to the houses we left out of fear, and
our loved ones,
perhaps, shall never find us
and shall not be able to weep
by our graves
consoling themselves there with flowers
and prayers.
How beautiful it would be
if the town that welcomed us
with such warmth
were to remember us by giving us an identity . . .
a name . . .
other than the
anonymous "refugees"!