Des Agos


A mio padre


Con te, tornerei a parlare ancora con te,
ormai vivo nel tuo ricordo.
Il colore della terra disegna il tuo volto
il tempo è passato sul tuo viso,
la fatica ha appesantito la tua schiena
trascinando i tuoi giorni nell'oblio.
Una lacrima nella zolla ristagna
caduta a terra con dolce lamento,
volgo lo sguardo al sole morente
che sosta ancora all'orizzonte.
Scende lentamente la sera,
triste natura a te ritorna il sole,
non sento più il suo dolce tepore
sento nel cuore solo un triste dolore

Submitted: Sunday, July 24, 2011
Edited: Monday, July 25, 2011

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