Rolling hillsides of green
Unravel before me.
Rows of neat vineyards
Stand proud in the noonday sun,
Backdropped by stone towers
And red-bricked roofs.
If you’re lucky maybe you can
Stand on a hill overlooking the land,
Watch the world unfold
Up and down like an uneven carpet,
Thickets of trees raising their heads,
Sunflowers bowing to the heat.
And there above with varied turrets
A city stands from a forgotten time
Lost, abandoned, and found again
Like a needle in a haystack,
Gold amongst bronze.
Step back into history,
Walk the road of pilgrims,
Wonder at the coats of arms
And the mix of ancient towers with
Modern stalls, selling
Souvenirs and paintings in
[Written on 28/7/16, describing the Tuscany region and the medieval town of San Gimignano]