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An Ode to Walking in Italy - David Singleton

Blog post   •   Jun 09, 2013 10:23 BST

Tuscany

Renaissance Tuscany

Oh, October, and the golden sun
On kindly hills, soft with olives
About to burst, about to brim,
Descending down a stave
Of steps, stone-bound. The sky
Is bright and bayonetted
By cypresses below. The air
Lives with the sleight
Of butterflies, slowing
With the season, undefined,
Unsettled as ideas,
Made languid by the thought
Of winter. Morning settles,
Beaten by bells from the town
That lies over the rise,
From Campanile and dome,
Sounding a requiem
For summer and filling the sky
With a memory of faith.
I draw a silence around me
Like an insect, drowning in air,
And abide in the moment
That is already gone.


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