Via des Wiens

So bares the fruit of tamed cities:
alabaster fronts and yellowed tinges,
the sun perpetually casting on Danube.
Doubled down coat of arms and dens
of smokers with hands full of water
and youth scuttles to the corners of
the bar with smokeless tobacco.
The streets exhaled of its ancient
masters of dusty dells, empty stone
palaces where coats of arms knelled,
their swords and halberds in verdured
shade from the swaying wooden bars.

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