Cypress trees dark and daggerish slice 

Through blueish skies like

Sails through sea.

 

Olives dangle lazily from silver trees 

Blessed by heaven, fed by earth.

 

Honeysuckle lines the streets

The goodness of a million sun’s.

 

On the heaving breast of Tuscan hills

Birds chuckle

Grasses wave

And 

Pruned roses pout their

Fat pink lips.

 

Vines assemble in battalions

Their fruit will fall to Man someday.

 

Jaded cedars

Hang high and

Stretch in surrender like the arms of Christ

Under these, the quiet calm

Of moss, fig, and geranium.

 

Clouds congregate and mourn onto the earth

Like ghosts of lost children.

Tears

Fall on wild flowers

With simple faces and

Sophisticated scents.

 

Boundaryless and bountiful:

The hills of sweet Siena.

Red poppies swing on grassy hills 

The fire and flag of Italy.

 

– BF