The hands dance
In the dial
Of the clock
The suns, follow the moons
In this sky
Covered by the dust
The old shopkeeper
Every morning he rises
From his bed
Who knows though, what he thinks
Among those shelves
So monotonous
Outside the store
The mothers wait, the line
So they can get their milk
The children in the street
Get up late
Observing the sky
With the enchanted eyes
Of the swallows waiting
The return of summer
Oh, my time
You, so simple a succession
Of seasons
Put wings on these moments
So that they fly
In a riot Of butterflies
YOU ARE READING
Thoughts of a poet
PoetryHo viaggiato per la mente d'un poeta, esplorando e condensando quelli che sono i pensieri più reconditi e profondi. Questi sono "i pensieri di un' poeta" I've travelled into the mind of a poet, exploring and realising those that are his most profo...
