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Blowing from the West



Blowing from the west,

a fierce avalanche seems

the sound of the wind.

The rain is coming to an end.

May, traveler,

it goes away by the river.



Ethereal, the dragonfly,

perching on the grass,

sip the last drops of rain.

The red carnations


Drunk with water,

the tree twists.



Rainy night. In the morning,

the world seems to be

just painted.



Cry the moon, together,

all your tears.

Puddles, roads, mud and,

nevertheless..., beauty!

What does this all mean?



Suddenly, a strong storm

wants to devastate the whole village.

Deep in the river

the fish take refuge.

I close the gate,

waiting for the water

go back to your path.




the plate full

of steaming yellow rice,

sitting, next to the path

covered with blue bells!



A flock

of blue butterflies,

among the white lilies,

it will be a sweet memory

of love of spring.



...And after the walk,

rest in the shade of the ash trees,

in the garden of clovers.

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Blowing from the West
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