|
Il poeta diventa vecchio
L’estate altro non θ che messi gialle
con la macchietta rossa di un trattore.
Prima era un volo lento di farfalle:
su una collina stavo col mio amore.
|
The Poet Grows Old
The other summer there was nothing but yellow harvests
With the little red spot of a tractor.
Before there was a slow flight of butterflies:
And I was on a hill with my love. |
