Bells from the church were tolling,

while we were strolling,

through the streets of the ancient city.

Mist of recent rain,

mixed with scent of pines,

elevated our spirits high again.

Bells of the town are tolling,

clouds above us are rolling,

while we are slowly,

walking through ruins of Diocletian’s palace.

Streets covered with ancient stones,

remaining with us forgotten tones,

of songs from ancient times,

of whispering in the pines,

singing to us joyful lines,

to remember our past.

Passing through the stony portal,

we are engulfed in history of the immortals,

people, heroes, warriors and saints,

visions painted on walls with ancient paints,

hidden in lines, remaining us of the not forgotten times.

Tatjana Webster, Split, May 2018