Culture > Poems > 459 🔗

La folla

Trilussa

Nun soffià più, risparmia la fatica:
disse una canna ar Vento -
tanto lo sai che nun me spezzi mica...

Io - disse er Vento - sfido
l'arberi secolari e li sconquasso:
ma, de te, me ne rido! Me contento
che te pieghi e t'inchini quanno passo.

they might interest you

This site uses technical cookies, including from third parties, to improve the services offered and optimize the user experience. Please read the privacy policy. By closing this banner you accept the privacy conditions and consent to the use of cookies.
CLOSE