The swallows restless fly
fly in a magical dance
fluffy white-grey clouds
dress the autumn's sky.
Flurries of warm wind
blow through the brambles
and caress the thin branches
of an old willow tree.
Autumn is just coming
leaves slowly turn yellow,
the swallows quietly are waiting
aligned on blackened wires.
A slight clinking on the window
cradle my sweet awakening
slowly falls the rain
on the roofs, on thirsty meadows.
Nests are empty this morning
no feeble chirpings nearby
the swallows no longer dance
in the plumbeous autumn's sky.
Fly over seas and deserts
arrive in distant lands
fly in magical dance
in a sky dressed in blue.
*
Nessun commento:
Posta un commento