And then she asked me: My girl, what memories do you have of this stage?
The winter gave us a pleasant surprise
She keeps nostalgia,
And indescribable moments lived.
Since you didn't come,
It is sad in the mornings and in the afternoons...
No one sits down to talk anymore
Let alone Jamaica tea.
Wicker chairs are not used, and sometimes,
Irremediably filled with leaves,
And it is a torment to sweep them...
Farewell was said to pleasant conversations,
A pearl was stolen at the time...
Some of his plants keep
Tertulias and invaluable sharing,
Subtle memory, of space that came to life
And it became an agitated crossroads of people...
sad moment longing for your delicate fragrance,
your voice, your smile, your verb.
This poem is a gift from my dear aunt, who is a faithful lover of good letters and nature, made my disordered words a beautiful piece of poetry. I dedicate these photographs to her.
Camera: Avvio 774 mobile device