A powerful warrior, pride of the land,
And a pitiful servant, cowardly.
Two brought together by fate’s guiding hand,
Holy Rome and Italy were meant to be.
The empire admired the nation from afar,
His love remained hidden, innocent, pure.
But even he could not escape fame uncharred;
Love could not stay the cold clutches of war.
But Holy Rome had a confession to make:
“Since the Nine Hundreds, I’ve loved you,” he said.
When he was begged to stay, his heart did break,
But he offered a promise: “You’ll see me again.”
Despite the how long for him Italy yearned,
From that long battle, his love never returned.
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