Atop a mountain
Lush with trees and green,
A scattering of houses,
More beautiful than a dream.

The single lane road
Snakes five scenic k's,
The views very dramatic,
Through a sun shimmering haze.

The lane at its end,
No more than a track,
Where all geckoes run seeking,
Cooling stone walls, for a crack.

Little old lady,
Climbs steps to her home,
Her tanned face lined and weathered,
From the hard life she has known.

I give her a smile,
The best one I've got,
With a twinkle in my eye,
I gladly give her the lot.

She stops and stares,
Hangs onto the rail,
Then her eyes start to soften,
And then she's smiling as well.

'Bon journo' I say,
With a cheeky smile,
In my flowery blue shorts,
She's not used to so much style!

'Riolo bella!'
In my best accent!
Waving my arms all around,
To try and show what I meant.

'Italy bella!'
I'm so on a roll!
She's not used to this much fun,
When she goes out for a stroll.

She spreads both her arms,
In wide open gait,
Says loads and loads of strange words,
To me, her new bestest mate!

'I'm English!' I say,
Pointing at my chest,
Still giving her a big smile,
I can see she's well impressed!

We gester and point,
At mountains and views,
I tell her she's so lucky,
So much beauty to peruse!

As I say goodbye,
I ponder her lot,
This dear little old lady,
Living on this mountain top.

I'm not an expert,
Might be very wrong
Did anyone ever write her
A poem, either short or long?

I don't know her name,
Haven't got a clue,
But lady of Riolo,
This one's happily for you!