An island set in the Mediterranean Sea,
mountainous, green, very pretty.
A jewel coveted by envious eyes:
Frenchmen, Italians, and Moors.
It changed hands from age to age,
and each left imprints upon its visage.
A lighthouse overlooked the harbour,
guided ships and warned of an intruder;
a citadel serenely poised on a cliff top;
fortified, defiant, a haven for its people.
As evening in Calvi drew to an end,
we stood upon this citadel of old
and watched the sun go to its rest;
a fiery disc softly sinking in the West.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem