06-30-2014, 01:03 AM
[Image: http://remembrancedaysong.com/images/Pil...stones.jpg]
On a Montecassino morn,
a singing monk, still, tills the land.
The stormy weathers of the world
draw right above his home, their line.
Booming thunders start a choir,
as lightning, as bullets, fly by.
Brave winds, outside their course,
clash against each other and die.
Raindrops fall helplessly from the heights,
crying their death rattle to the sky.
The silent monk too looks at the sky, asking: why?
And still continues to till the land
On a Montecassino morn,
a singing monk, still, tills the land.
The stormy weathers of the world
draw right above his home, their line.
Booming thunders start a choir,
as lightning, as bullets, fly by.
Brave winds, outside their course,
clash against each other and die.
Raindrops fall helplessly from the heights,
crying their death rattle to the sky.
The silent monk too looks at the sky, asking: why?
And still continues to till the land