Conor O'Reilly writes

In Xi'an

In this once 
Chinese capital city,
The mist is thick,
Kissing the curb
As first time lovers do,
From the bright morning
To the night’s dark.

The high wide stone walls,
And bright summer green trees
Alongside the murky moat,
are all bathing in the ashy haze.
It seems almost to be
As permanent as the stone
From which the walls were built.

But there are pretty girls.
Clothes so neatly pressed
With straight coal black hair,
Eyeing me slyly as I pass by.
I flick my eyes from left to right
enthusiastically as all this attention
Detracts my thoughts
From the grey.