By Andrew R. Duckworth
Water out of the lion’s mouth
Trickling down to a pool
Cascading down to another
And landing in a basin at the bottom.
Sunflowers growing along the perimeter
And pink and red petals of poppies
Flicker with a gentle breeze
Of a fading summer.
White and red bottles
On silver trays brought to the garden table
Near a clear pool with a bursting fountain.
At night, those lights strung overhead
Will fire on and glow for miles
Across those Umbrian plains
Rushing to Assisi’s feet.
We’ll be plenty of glasses in,
But rich in old stories
Like a fine aged wine.