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autumn poem

la notte era nera e drear
il mio figlio è guasto e sono ciechi andanti
non ho saputo mai che la terra ha avuta così tanto oro
il rullo triste del tamburo desonorizzato ha battimento
lĂ  dalla finestra nella vecchia casa
sole e vento e battimento del mare
il piĂą triste dell'anno
una parola di volo di qui e lĂ 
dice a di buoni vecchi periodi
dal puntello, dal mare
andato prima di noi
l'aria è piena l'alba del e la molla

 



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