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baby poem

malinconia, azzurro era
ed ancora hanno camminato sopra
lungo una riva del fiume
sotto la mia finestra in una via della cittŕ
ci č un paese in pieno di vino
risiedo alla montagna della tabella
ho scagliato la mia anima all'aria come un volo del falco
una vita sull'onda dell'oceano
calma come che seconda estate
semplicemente parlando
alcuni giorni piů ventosi
scuro-eyed
perchč allora, il mosto noi vede?

 



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