Sera gray
grieves me to the beauty of the chest: I ache
lights
rusty in the afternoon, and I regret
this color on the cloud - leaden purple purple
repellent, the half ring of the moon that shines
just - I am sorry. He spent a
boat.
A boat oars; lovers; time.
The boys of yesterday have grown old.
not go back.
Evening gray, thin moon - it hurts
time.
Ghiannis Ritos
A Manu, Cap.71
The leaden sky is reflected in the river was flowing slowly. Water Po
Tickets crumpled in pockets, heels to pace of the music on headphones. Handfuls of confetti on the road, bouquets of poppies, wildflowers of a Carnival distracted.
Four Kings, in the hands. And the Ace of Hearts. Sons of winter
Who with heart always rounded.
Modi was sitting near the fountain was closed and all around the square on her severe lines of the roofs and attics were lined with snow, like embroidery at the windows. Crystals of cold, frost lace. His court of miracles.
Manu was the familiar face in the crowd, stopped at the traffic light with his hand raised in salute.
The afternoon passed in the plots of the white tablecloths of an outdoor bar. It was not just the Lavazza coffee.
"Of course if you thought you could go unnoticed evil" Manu was like that, irreverent.
"You usually have the enamel coordinated with the bag, it looks like you dressed in the dark," he continued.
Modi said that her friend was right.
"I am distracted in this period," said
distracted
distracted
distracted
He felt like one of those glass balls that make snow when agitated. So he felt.
cards lying on their backs had the answer, but not always what we believe is right for us is also the best for us.
The Hanged Man and Chariot.
"Girls make me want to quit?" Remarks of the good-natured waiter. How
drown some stories in a cappuccino. Irreverent and disarming.
laughed.
coffee grounds to seek the path. When the passport was crowded agenda, and "backpack shoulder in Costa Rica "one of those good intentions missed.
Via San Tommaso, people bought the first Nativity scenes, in the air in December.
Time passed through the hands, and his breath grew short behind a wool scarf.
For two hundred per hour on the highway of life.
Modi return.
And the tower fell on the board of an imperfect time.
Manu in the slow flow of days between blue and white houses, Greece in the heart.
It ended the square and opened the bridge over the Po
long rang the bells of the Great Mother.
Then a toll on Hill: Great Mother spoke and answered Cappuccini.
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