The sun was still warm although she wasn't lightening anymore
it was turning off and from her body of fire escaped a spark
still we could see the great pines flowers fading
the breeze was soft as the silver brook was running under my feet
i fell asleep
then the morning sun slowly warms and gilds the wet corn
and the azure sky has kept all the freshness of the night
we follow a blurred path along the river with yellow grass
the air is sharp reflections of flying birds in the water
that's all
but the thoughtful poet loves this landscape which softness
cherished his dream and rocked his memory
of a young woman a white and singing appearance
the one he finally found the one his soul always
cried and claimed