Love, what a long way, to arrive at a kiss.

I want to do to you what spring does with the cherry trees.

No, my dog used to gaze at me, paying me the attention I need, the attention required to make a vain person like me understand that, being a dog, he was wasting time, but, with those eyes so much purer than mine, he’d keep on gazing at me with a look that reserved for me alone all his sweet and shaggy life, always near me, never troubling me, and asking nothing.

Wakening from the dreaming forest there, the hazel-sprig sang under my tongue, its drifting fragrance climbed up through my conscious mind as if suddenly the roots I had left behind cried out to me, the land I had lost with my childhood - and I stopped, wounded by the wandering scent.

About me, nothing worse they will tell you, my love, than what I told you

Megaphone in which the wind passes singing.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her. Love is so short, forgetting is so long.