Driving along the mountain side,
Looking down on the land below,
Fog blanketed the cold winter ground,
The blue sky covered an albino sheet.
It was a sea of white, polished clean,
Snowy like Alaskan tundra
Brought to the heart of Tuscan Italy.
Suddenly a brown mound appeared,
Rising out of the ancient mist,
With five rainbows arching over it,
Meeting at the top, an umbrella of colors
Wrapping the cathedral in natural ribbons.
A hunter was pulled over, on the shoulder,
His brown-skin coat beaten by bushes,
Rifle dangling in rest at his side,
Gazing in wonder with arms akimbo
At the miracle on ice.
Looking down on the land below,
Fog blanketed the cold winter ground,
The blue sky covered an albino sheet.
It was a sea of white, polished clean,
Snowy like Alaskan tundra
Brought to the heart of Tuscan Italy.
Suddenly a brown mound appeared,
Rising out of the ancient mist,
With five rainbows arching over it,
Meeting at the top, an umbrella of colors
Wrapping the cathedral in natural ribbons.
A hunter was pulled over, on the shoulder,
His brown-skin coat beaten by bushes,
Rifle dangling in rest at his side,
Gazing in wonder with arms akimbo
At the miracle on ice.
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