Alone I walk beneath the archways of trees, Their branches arching over in refuge. The shadow wraps around me, and I hear The tale of autumn whispered, Where golden leaves already fall, And the earth embraces their decay.
- Salvatore Quasimodo
Alone I walk beneath the archways of trees, Their branches arching over in refuge. The shadow wraps around me, and I hear The tale of autumn whispered, Where golden leaves already fall, And the earth embraces their decay.