Beneath Santiago skies there are walls
of ivy, of lattice, of murals, of noise;
wherever you look they’re towering tall,
be them brooding or be them coy.
Deep in the heart of the city they stand,
left and right, ahead and behind;
they corner the eyes of every man,
by happenstance and by design.
Ivy grips their wooded heights,
towering, green, and alive;
then there’s the lattice on stucco white,
patterned, but uninspired.
There are also murals of colorful splash,
graffitied or painted well,
but you mustn’t forget the noises brash
that morning and evening swell.