Here comes the Poets’ season at last
washing their old thoughts at the inn
with songs stained with generous wine
…Dancing Muse among the early fogs of the Po river
and accordions playing tango.
We “Crepuscolari” of the year 2000
we are not very audacious
but we cultivate flowers in the cement
which we give to passers-by
…Little match sellers of ignis fatuu.