The mountains, a conversation of silence, Their peaks crowned with virgin snow, Unveiled in the dawn’s gentle blush, Carved by the ages, standing still, Where every boulder remembers the time The earth wept under a comet’s glow.
- Salvatore Quasimodo
The mountains, a conversation of silence, Their peaks crowned with virgin snow, Unveiled in the dawn’s gentle blush, Carved by the ages, standing still, Where every boulder remembers the time The earth wept under a comet’s glow.