The Girl Roundabout Attendant Poem by Paolo Giuseppe Mazzarello

Last night in the country I passed through the town's place;
Thirty-five years ago there was the earth on it and, once a year,
In September there was the roundabout with the chains.
Around the rotor there were the games, above all the target-shooting.
I went there in the night with two smaller buddies, two goods-for-nothing.
I fired some cardboard bullets and the girl reloaded my rifle.
Her beauty was that one in the street, and hers was the blonde flowing hair.
Her face was burnt by sun reflected on the asphalt,
Her body scented of washing and tire and she said to me:
'Will you return to shoot tomorrow? '
Now I know that she loved my kindness in that vilains' land,
Now I know that I returned next night, we were sincere,
I really got away together with her along our world's ways.