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Fresh autumn air dabs her pink hazy skin,
Old Po offers wisdom; clever, she binds,
Superga, La Mole’s, towering minds.
Valentino’s heart, Garabaldi’s grin.

Shimmering trees whisper an old fable
To unsuspecting citizens at night.
A tall church steeple snags an errant kite,
Mother Mary stands silent, unable.

Main Entry: wonderful
Part of Speech: adjective
Definition: great, extraordinary
Synonyms: Magical Turin

…loved your poem Democracy!

Democracy,

I like how you personified Turin, with 'her pink hazy skin', and the river as Old Po (oops! I typed Old Poo – too much time on the Marisha thread), a crone-amalgam of all the brilliant people who (I just found out) came from Turin. Also liked the whispering trees, but most of all – especially as a final line – Mother Mary standing silent and unable – to free the kite, or perhaps to do or undo anything else at all.

I've never been to Turin, but enjoyed drifting along with your poem – thank you.

Thankyou for the very kind comments. I just noticed that 'pink hazy skin' should have a comma in it, or pink and hazy should be swapped around. Decisions decisions...

Thought I'd turn it into an Italian sonnet...

Magical Turin

Fresh autumn air dabs her hazy pink skin,
Old Po offers wisdom; clever, she binds,
Superga, La Mole’s, towering minds.
Valentino’s heart, Garabaldi’s grin.

Shimmering trees whisper an old fable
To unsuspecting citizens at night.
A tall church steeple snags an errant kite,
Mother Mary stands silent, unable.

An assassin stalks in perfect silence,
Concealed in the shadows of an arched bridge.
Above him, a crowd hails the duelling Prince.

Two young butterfly hearts secretly meet,
A park bench hosts a lovers' proposal,
In July, in red autumn leaves, in sleet.