those pilgrim hordes we met
on the via flaminia to trento
from every kingdom
in the empire where german’s spoken they came
from every duchy every county
every bishopric free city estate
some came from speaking bohemian
some from speaking polish
some french flemish dutch
some had spoke french in france
some english in england
norwegian in norway danish in denmark
with such a confusion of tongues you’d think
the road to rome would become
the tower of babel laid horizontal
abandoned for a thousand years neglected
hacked by horses’ hooves
by carriage wheels rutted
none of those pilgrims spoke not one
with one speech they sang sang
veni creator spiritus sang ave maria
salve regina vexille regis
sang to malaria sang to mosquitoes
to the marshes like they’d
sung to the mountains and to the bandits
to the plains and to the armies
like they’d come to sing
to the walls of the eternal city
many voices became one voice
sang the language of the antique romans
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