She wears her hills like folded letters,
Each field a breath she chose to keep.
The cypress trees are ancient whispers,
The winding roads, her thoughts asleep.
The wildflowers are her small rebellions,
The bell tower her oldest scar.
The sky above, a faded mirror,
Reflecting nothing, holding all.
This work is part of the on going series " What Cities Hold"
0xB...2B2
