Geme the air, the sun so clear
Whether you seek the apricot trees in bloom, and
prunalbo the bitter odorino
feel in your heart.
But the bush is dry, and buckets plants
of black frames mark the peaceful,
the sky is empty, and hollow at the foot sounding
seems the ground.
Silence, around, alone, at twenty,
hate away from gardens and orchards,
leaves a fragile fall. E 'summer
cold, dead
(Pascoli G)
PS .... November Lalla
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