poems

Beauty of This Place

I would tell you of the beauty

of this place, if I could.

No words will ever show it

as they should.

 

How paint the rolling Tuscan

hills as they appear

to eyes that gaze upon them

through a tear

of joy to just be here?

 

From Poci, see the view

of ancient that is ever new;

of years long passed away.

Not lost, but new again with every day

that dawns here in this place

which always has a new and wondrous face.

 

More than the garb of nature do we see;

more than the fruit of vine and tree;

more than what springs from this rich land;

more than the work of thought and hand;

it is a thing wherein we find

a grand ideal we bring to mind.

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