Vienna

Of my old home I dreamt last night,
City of song, nestled along the Danube's flow,
Where first I glimpsed the day's bright light,
And life moves peacefully and slow,
Where people waltz and idle in some small cafes,
Or climb the nearby mountain tops on bright and sunny days,
Then drink their wine and linger in the evening glow,
Where Mozart, Haydn and Strauss dreamt music long ago,
And Freud, reflecting quietly, began the human soul to know,
Dreamt that my long dead father in the doorway stands,
And on my shoulder does he pat his dear, old hands,
And asks: "Ocassionally, son, when you do have the chance,
Remember me and this old town and talk about us to your friends."

Alfred Charasz
Copyright 2005 Alfred Charasz