Music is in your language.
Moderato/Allegretto/Crescendo,
I recognise the rhythms,
but not the meaning.
You stopped your frantic
serving of meals-Bon Appetito
to serve a friend, who's bicycle
had broken down.
Then you went back to your work,
as he peddled away-
Bon Appetito, Bon Appetito,
Bon Appetito.
You gave your language meaning.
This poem written in Scandiche near florence
2006 while observing Tommy at La Botega de panino.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem