He died so forty-six, after an eventful and adventurous life,
one of the greatest Latin poets of the Renaissance, Michele
Marullo Tarcaniota, a greek exile who always sighed and sang
distant homeland, he had never known, since the fall of Constantinople
in the hands of the Turks in 1453 he had forced his parents
to escape when he was still in the womb. In that drive
incipient spring morning was hurrying towards the harbor
Piombino, where he was departing the ship that should have after
so long finally get him at home and therefore had not listened
the exhortations of his friend Raffaele Maffei, of which he was a guest
Volterra, to linger a little longer, because it was Sunday
Palm and why the melting snow had made it dangerous
crossing the Cecina.