The Italian is from Dante's Inferno.
Midway through the journey of OUR life,
Some translate nostra as ''my,'' but why lie?
when we're discussing turmoil and strife.
Cammin can be rendered as ''journey,''
but I prefer Path, Way, or Walk--
I strive to use a forest-people term,
the way pilgrims talk.
Yet, I dream in my dreams of arroyos,
not verdant arbors. A parched gully,
but when it rains it drains out all the debris
to permit me to see my life fully.
The Path ahead beckons, but fear is there,
a ghost, a saint, the branches of a wisdom tree,
points firmly: this is the way up;
the arroyo never remains dry, says he.
Poetry by William Hughes
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Written on 2026-02-02 at 14:57
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Aroyo
Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita:Midway through the journey of OUR life,
Some translate nostra as ''my,'' but why lie?
when we're discussing turmoil and strife.
Cammin can be rendered as ''journey,''
but I prefer Path, Way, or Walk--
I strive to use a forest-people term,
the way pilgrims talk.
Yet, I dream in my dreams of arroyos,
not verdant arbors. A parched gully,
but when it rains it drains out all the debris
to permit me to see my life fully.
The Path ahead beckons, but fear is there,
a ghost, a saint, the branches of a wisdom tree,
points firmly: this is the way up;
the arroyo never remains dry, says he.
Poetry by William Hughes
Read 19 times
Written on 2026-02-02 at 14:57
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
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