After my rest in Milan, I once again headed south in Italy towards Florence. Florence was an experience! I caught a few rides and it was a pleasant travel day when I walked into the center of the city. The sun seemed to glitter the whole time I was there. I walked the back streets of the city and got lost and found my way and got lost again. It was exhilarating!
The youth hostel was on a hill near the edge of the city. I got a ride with some other people in another van but by the time I got there the hostel was full. One of the people there told us of a farmer near the hostel that let hippies camp in his field. We found it and after paying a nominal fee we set up a small campsite in the field. There were already several small campsites set up. The people in my campsite included the owners of the van, a couple from Vancouver, British Columbia. If my memory is still good they got married in Morocco. Also riding with us were two girls; one from Australia and the other, I think, from the United States. To round off this group, we add the effervescent redheaded Gilbert Murphy. His appearance would remind you of Ronald Beasley from the Harry Potter movies. He was a former Roman Catholic priest turned poet/folk singer and had, at the same time, an encyclopedic knowledge of Elvis Presley tunes.Gilbert Murphy roamed the different campsites entertaining everyone with his songs like a minstrel. By evening all the sites were being entertained by a band made up by various musicians playing flutes, saxophones, guitars and a juice harp. It was a mellow evening underneath the stars.
Two of his poems I found in my notebook that he wrote, either on the spot or from memory. One on spirituality and the other on the horrors of war.
Adieu
You left my life
You made your mark
The night has gone
But it is dark
I'll never see you again
The things you did
Shine out like stars
The memory of them
My heart jars
But when I die I will see you
Oh take me to the life that's new
Then I'll see you again
Gilbert Murphy
War is Warped
Icicles sparked bright on leafless trees.
Twisted branches shimmered in the cool breeze.
Crispy snow yielded neath my feet
as on I strode.
On to the bridge that crossed the sprightly brook
Silent now, like a closed book.
I stared around in hollow gaze once more
The heart of man has frozen to the core
Sanguine patches blotched the virgin snow a brilliant red
Mother nature tried alas, pathetically, to conceal the dead......
(The carnage and the pointless gore)
-Would it never end, this Godforsaken war?
Gilbert Murphy
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