Twas the night before Roma, when all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. The luggage was packed, waiting out there, in hopes to arrive in Rome with care.
The students were nestled all warm in their beds, while pizza and spaghetti danced in their heads. With me in my pjs and the suitcase all packed, it waited to be checked and filled with goodies to be brought back.
When on the TV there rose such a chatter, Chelsea Handler was there discussing the matter. Away to the remote I flew like a flash, to turn off what sounded like balderdash. Now Sicily! Now Roma! Now Verona and Venice! On Tuscany! On Assisi! On Naples, and Florence! To the back of the plane I found my row. Fly away, fly away and let’s go go go.
I sprung to my seat and the pilot gave a whistle, and away we flew like the down of a thistle. But I heard the pilot say, as we flew out of sight, "Ciao Roma, and to all a safe flight."
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