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Torre

In a land of flattened fields and broad branched trees
Towers are landmarks made by men
Magical, martial, walled and moated
The clocktower anchors the town piazza, though
the time is always off
Castle tower once pierced by arrows, as sentries
scanned for invading foes
Church towers Campenella rose to heavenly heights,
bells bisecting dawn and dusk
And the lovely conceit of an empty stuccoed tower
that overlooks manicured garden
Now home to sleeping bats and dried droppings of doves

  Ilka Scobie