under the sun

Venerdì, 30 Dicembre 2005

Orbetello

Tuscan Snow

A cloud has hovered over our sky

Swiftly, before anyone could know.

But slowly, gliding down from on high,

Flake after flake, here comes the snow.

Minute by minute, the air is full

Thousands of flakes dancing in circles

Landing over the green hills and fields,

Over and in between olive tree leaves.

Bonfire smoke rises unaware of the fun,

In a place which is normally used to the sun.

When was the last time these lands saw

White fall upon them, like manna from God.

Swiftly as it comes, away the cloud flies,

Blue and sun again fill the skies.

The Sand and the Sea still share their commune

Woods, unchanged, as though they never knew.