Culture > Poems > 459 ๐Ÿ”—

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.

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