Saturday, August 7, 2010
Eating Bad Day Before Cholesterol Test
Un Poeta non è mai solo. 
Con gaze endlessly absorbed and thought, I see you
Poet dream resume in your past, what you kept in the core Fugar who does not want the memories pure
been colored by the years most sincere.
In the past many lost stories by the way,
Many forget the source that has preceded them,
In many remain unaware of being on this earth.
But you think and stay firm to your past, even
You keep strong contact with the imaginative
become of your trip. Remember when
t'inebriavi
at the thought of 'a school or marinade,
with friends, on a morning walk?
many projects drew
your mind making you hope to that bright future sovereign
that it opened your mind strong.
a future, stories, new loves
of grass that would have been born in the invitation to life. But you
poet, and hence, I look like a thrush
that lives on rocky hills and the towers
in search of a female with whom share his insects.
Never a story teller of talk, but only
a thinker who, with the intense feelings,
Vole gratify his past. What
as a child lived together in the wind that takes you by
the hand and touched the sleeping
and that, ultimately, made you forget then it reunites time had vanished. But now
adult
you get to the line of the border,
stubborn, which is to continue until the goal?
What do you care?
Relive the new day, rewarding life that
prepares to chase each other over time;
tend to be just a new dream, the green fields of limestone, the hills
kissed mistral
the endless seas to navigate,
and then finally say, ancient poet
not forget us in the Hereafter
and fond memories of having been your children on this earth .-
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