Exclusive autumn hill.

Northern Italy.
Grassy hills lead up to a mansion.
The semicloudy day´s glare hits the front of it.
Illusions of paradise.
All the way up are gin-traps rusted
 and sharp.
In that glistening tasty grass.
Private gardens radiating outside it where wealthy
 families
cook their quota of ignorance.
Well in the grand dining hall
of the mansion,
an infected baby is tended to by a treacherous
lady.
Your not invited.
Yet you look up from the driveway,
enviously.