|
|
The time, Maria Tosti
|
torna indietro |
THE TIME
In the summit of the mountain
I saw the Time as an old man without age
with a long white beard
and the lively eyes of a child
intent to scan
every corner of the hearth.
The solitary venerable old gentleman stays there
since the Creation of the world
beating every moment
and thinking about what will be
of him, at the end of all.
His is the rhythm of the seasons
and the miracle of the growth
of everything,
his is the medicine much used
by human race
and the street that takes
every destiny.
All the history passed and will pass
in front of his eyes
and the days will become months
and the months years.
I saw him leaned on his stick,
tired and worn out,
to walk in everywhere
and I saw him in the wrinkles of my face
to lay a sign of his
interminable way.
|
|
|
