once upon a time,
in the year Two Thousand and Seventeen,
on the Seventh day of May,
a fair, young maiden voyaged
to a land far, far away.
she was spirited and eager,
because never before had she journeyed
to the strange and vast expanse of the west;
an impromptu plan at it’s finest,
the dame found the news hard to digest.
art, history and breathtaking beauty,
few words used to describe this land of Italy;
to breathe in the unfamiliarity of a nation
the girl had only read about in tales,
was an experience not nearly justified by this narration.
in truth, the trip’s primary purpose
was to make her grandfather forget
the sombre memories and to help him remember,
the sweet tales of his beloved darling
and the time they spent together.
the adventure was to cover cities three:
Venice, Florence and Rome
over the span of one week;
planned with guided tours and trips,
every day they got to see something unique.
in the city of canals she walked on water,
tasted the temperature drop from day to night,
she sailed the open sea and heard the waves call;
between narrow streets she skipped and observed,
always in awe of the unusually plump pigeons perched on the wall.
Florence was the city where history came alive,
a certain Leonardo telling the girl of the tales of his city;
she drank wine and tasted pure cheese,
and gave in to the illusion of the leaning Pisa,
all the while grateful for the blue skies and cool breeze.
the eternal city was architecture at its ancient best,
ruins she had never seen so grand;
she savoured silence in the chapel Sistine,
and devoured the beauty of the Vatican,
but before she knew, it was already day Thirteen.
next day, she was on the voyage back home
with a second case overflowing with memories,
her grandfather’s heart was content, it was plain to see.
a scrapbook filled with tokens of the city,
her lips stretched wide, saying a heartfelt grazie.