This archway leads to office buildings that belong to the Commune di Acqui Terme. (If I remember correctly.) Step inside.

Look up. The ceiling is frescoed. It looks very old. (What if we looked up more often, what would we discover?)
Deeper into the archway and through a colonnade is a beautiful old building.
Look further: a courtyard, almost a secret garden.

Secret Garden
Fresh morning dew, still dripping from the rose,
the blue birds sing their wishful songs of hopes.
My garden has still breath – it alone knows,
the secrets that are bound with grassy ropes.
Pure love is endless – the bird’s sing of truth,
sweet blossoms bow so humbly, to their voice.
They rest in old age and then dance in youth,
blameless and pure of heart – they all rejoice.
They’re out of sight – hidden – like precious gems,
the rainbows do yield, while all time transcends.
The roses stand tall on their thorny stems,
as giving thanks, to their fair feathered friends.

My secret garden cast your spell in mist.
Mark down your truths on an unending list.
Shakespearean sonnet by Fifth Dove