I know not everything of this place
such have the die been cast,
scattering me and mine far away,
but the memories of some last.
A taste here, a smell there,
deep breathes of memory.
The smell of grape leaves in the air,
the taste of dough that sings to me.
I know little of the details,
my memories few and far between.
But I know that love prevails;
love for this place lives in me.