ANTARES FARM

Night, quiet shadows,

cradle of air,

I feel the wind if I wander in you,


with it the sea smell of the earth

where by its shore my people sing

by sails, by creels,

by children before sunrise awaken.


Dry mountains, firstling green lowlands

awaiting herds and flocks,

your pain is in me gouging me.


Salvatore Quasimodo

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