A cellar
A corridor
A cafe
A coffee
A cake
A copper pipe or two
A chair
A camera
A cathedral
A city
A country
A copper pipe or two
The queue is quintessential
Everywhere we go
It is we who are deferential
Beneath the line of snow
I have to tell you something
of the Duomo
Whose dead centre
is directly above
Its chairs are not built for comfort
And its columns are black and white
The faces are not for smiling
And the doubters, they do seem a shade uptight
