50 Primavere

On that April 25th
the war was at home
it was raining hard outside the church.
Hunger was in the air,
life a gamble
but the priest continued his mass.
You in the white dress,
you in new shoes,
you said yes,
in front of that altar.
And together for life
you walked
through time, promises, and hopes.
The war that was ending,
the American dances,
Italy to rebuild with hands.
The 10 on the lottery ticket,
children suddenly,
the house too small
and I growing up too fast.
But tell me how
to be like you
together for life;
because to me, love when it's there
always seems like fire
and instead lasts little.
Maybe souls of a kind
they don't make them anymore.
That April 25th
returns every year
and every year finds you together.
You've seen the sea
and the century change
the good pope and the man on the moon.
Some call you grandparents
and some are already twenty,
it's time that passes but doesn't go away.
You with white hair,
you with new glasses,
you still say yes
every day at the table.
But it might be fate,
luck or who knows
but you're still together.
And it seems like love born yesterday
but it's already
fifty springs.
And we with so much to learn
are here improvising love.
That April 25th
it was raining and the guests
said "What lucky spouses."