Pokemon Feety Pajamas

Remembering Giovanni Pascoli: The mare reverses




The mare

reverses the Tower silence was high.
whispering poplars Salto del Rio.
Norman horses to put their
frangean the corn with rumors of splits.
Over there the horse was wild,
born among the pine trees on the beach sauce;
had that in the nostrils of the sea splashing
again, and screaming in pointed ears. With the crib
on one elbow, it was
my mother and tells her softly:
"O horse, horse transfers,
that carried him not return, you
you understood her sign and told her!
He left a young son;
the first of eight of my sons and daughters;
and his hand never touched reins. You
you feel the hips the hurricane, you
you listen to his little hand. You
man who has heart in the barren sea,
you girl you listen to his voice. " The horse wheeled

the gaunt head toward my mother, who said more sad:
"O horse, horse transfers,
that carried him not return;
I know, I know that you loved strong!
you were there with him alone and his death. O
born in the woods between the waves and wind, you
you held your heart in fright;
period in the mouth feeling the bite, in the heart
fast you premesti course:
slowly seguitasti your way, why did
in peace, the agony ... "
The head was bare long daccanto
the sweet face of my mother in tears.
"O horse, horse transfers,
that carried him not return;
oh! although he was obliged to say a few words!
And you know, but you can not complain. You
with free rein in its paws, in the eyes
with the fire of flames,
with the echo in my ears bursts,
seguitasti the way among the tall poplars
between the reported death of the sun, because
udissimo us his words. " He was attentive to the long head
fair.
My mother hugged her on the mane
"O horse, horse transfers,
brought to his house who does not come back!
To me, those who will not return ever!
You were good ... But you can not speak!
You do not know, poor thing, others dare not.
Oh! but you have to tell me something!
You've seen the man who killed him: it
thee here in the pupils FISE.
Who was? Who is it? I want to say a name.
And you mention. God teach you, how. "
Now, the horses do not frangean the corn:
dormian dreaming of the white road. The straw battean
not empty the nails:
dormian dreaming of the roller wheels.
My mother raised a finger in the silence:
said a name ... They are a high nitrite.


(Giovanni Pascoli)





Posted by uncle-silent