The dream seller from Venice
Her face was pale, dotted with freckles,
Her cheeks flush in the cold
Her eyes were keen – there was much that they never told.
Alone in this world, she didn’t need no one,
Her father she never knew,
Her mother was long since gone – there was no one else she knew.
In the shadowy lanes of San Pietro, she slept on a humble pallet –
She lived a simple life,
Selling memories by day, and singing by night.
Every morning, at six thirty, she woke and thanked her Lord,
She took the vaporetto, and
It passed through canals to reach, the Piazza San Marco.
Setting up her wares, she called out from her tiny stall
Some would even stop by and
Buy little souvenirs, to remember Venice by.
Magnets and buttons and postcards and trinkets
And masquerade masks she sold,
Tiny lace purses and lacquer nuggets – she had curios galore.
At dusk she wrapped up her day’s worth, and
then she took a boat,
Through the Grand Canal she drifted,
Until the Bridge of Rialto.
At the corner of the mighty bridge, she stood and sang all night
The moonlight danced on the water,
Her song? One apt for lovers.
A seller of amore she was- her lilt full of pain,
It warmed her heart to see them couples – in love she’d never fall
How happy they seemed to be, how free their minds it seemed,
In gondolas she saw them smile,
wherever she could see.
She often dreamt of love at night,
Though little did she know
She vowed to take the gondola –
the day she had more dough.
Until one sunlit morn in April, a man came up the Bridge
He bought a ribboned box off her
A wad of cash he left, and beneath it a folded paper –
“A thousand Euros for you” it said,
she read, her eyes wide open
“You sold me my dream once and here is a thank you token.”
“You sold me a small toy plane when I was in Venice last
A kid of ten, it fascinated me
And become such a part of me
I played with it all day and night, and when I grew up,
a pilot I was to be
All thanks to you, you sold my dream to me.”
She thanked her stars and went across
The Bridge of Sighs to the pier,
She bought the finest Prosecco
And paid a gondolier fifty
And then sat back and soaked it in
As her all-time dream come true.
The rest she put in a tin box and set it afloat the waters
It reached whom, she cared not much, for
She had more dreams to sell.
“Venice is like eating an entire box of chocolate liqueurs in one go.”
― Truman Capote
~”In my mind, each city has a color – Venice is a bright heart-warming yellow you simply can’t resist” – Me~
Note: If you liked this piece, you must absolutely read the earlier one in the ‘World by Pictures’ travel series! In case you missed it, click here – The World by Pictures: London
#Memory #Travel #Sketch