The Ballad of Olmo & Molinari

I was on a cycling trip with my father in Italy.
One day, we went to Villafranca to visit the Nicolis Museum.
The museum is packed with the founder’s private collections, including musical machines, crystals, and jet engines.
However, most of the museum focuses on transportation and vehicles.

Beyond the impressive car exhibitions, there is an entire floor in the museum dedicated to the fascinating history of two-wheeled vehicles.
As we walked from motorcycles to scooters, we passed by a long row of bicycles.
There, in the heart of the row, I saw two adjacent pairs of bicycles.

The following song is dedicated to that special couple, Olmo and Molinari.

This translation is pure Copilot! I did not edit it yet, many details are lost in the translation,
but it did impress me and kept the overall narative structure, so I decided to share it anyway, for now.
If you want the original experience, try the Hebrew version.

In fields where the wildflowers sway and bend, A noble soul named Olmo, with pride to defend, Sought not but a companion to share the ride, A partner in stride, by her side to abide.

Young Molinary, with heart tender and pure, Sped through the town, his mission was sure. For his mother lay ill, and time was his foe, To the healer’s abode, he urgently did go.

At the crossroads of fate, their paths did align, Distracted in thought, ignoring the sign. A clash of the wheels, a meeting unplanned, Awakened by shock, in stillness they stand.

“Be careful!” cried the lad, “Forgive my haste!” “Are you harmed?” asked Olmo, with no time to waste. “Think nothing of it,” he replied with a sigh, “My errand is urgent, I cannot deny.”

“The healer!” she echoed, “What is amiss?” “A wheel out of joint, a moment like this. My mother awaits, her need is dire,” Said he, with a voice tinged with fire.

Olmo, with knowledge from books on the shelf, Offered her aid, dismissing herself. To mend what was broken, to set right the wheel, With hands skilled and steady, her resolve made of steel.

To his humble abode, Molinary led, Where the sick mother lay in her weary bed. Olmo tended to her diligently, with care, Finishing swiftly without error or despair.

As the story concludes, with smiles around, Molinary asked, “How can thanks be found?” “Another adventure,” Olmo said with a beam, And vanished amidst the fields of green.