Roman Alley

Is this the haunted alley, with burnt-out mornings
And dark acquaintances, where once mighty
Potentates cocked
And hailed fiery soldiers, red with triumph?
And now, a black-faced boy is probing me, searching
For food
Is this the gate where once a proud
Roman claimed nobility while a
Thousand widows prayed for a Holy Empire?
Now a young mother peers out;
Her boy's face is dark with hunger.
Cesspools and ashes reflect her
Misery in sympathetic cobblestones
Of a cold, indignant street.
And how many marriages were blessed
In this court, where ancient tones of
Virgin choirs echo from great stonewalls?
Now Muslim vendors display
Chinese goods, and hooded mothers
And dusty children throw expectant glances
At passersby, and eerie sunlight haunts
This burnt-out place where dark acquaintances meet in
Cold mornings.