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Snow that is falling light and solemn,
and at the horizon…
Dried almond-trees moved by the wind.
Mysterious landscape,
for everyone lonesome and sad,
but soft melody for lovers of life.
Comes back to mind a graceful past,
young souls cut short by the fate.
Memories swinging
between sorrow and happiness,
recalling the days that never come back.
White heaps piled up on the road,
break the harmony of a sullen nature.
They’ re traces
of people now dead from inside,
Who nothing else ask to the life,
but illusion.
Forever it has faded away…
The magic smell of the snow on the meadows.
Silent is now the wind voice of the winter
For who doesn’t hear.
The snow keeps falling…
For who doesn’t want to see it.