The fog gl'irti
drizzling salt hills, and under the
mistral howls and whitens the sea;
but the streets of the village
by boiling de 'tini
is the sour smell of wine
souls rejoice.
Turn on 'strains aces
explain it Scoppieto
is the whistling caciator
about the gaze in usio
between the reddish clouds
flocks of 'birds blacks
com'esuli thoughts
migrate in the twilight.
Mimmo
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