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writing poetry

il padrone dei destini umani sono io
amo non troppo bene la mia vita, ma
amavo una donna
perchè
uccelli contro il vento di aprile
quanto selvaggio, come strega-come bizzarro che la vita dovrebbe essere
amilo in fine, o se non
hanno gettato una pietra, voi hanno gettato una pietra
sopra loro tutte, osservando giĂą
per allora senza
la nerezza
su e giĂą va
chi chiamerĂ  il vento

 



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