a letter to Sweden

A letter to Sweden

Every year, I say, Come August, I will travel to Sweden
but when I go to buy a ticket, the price has gone up and
I decide to wait until next year.
Once, I met a girl in Stockholm who spoke a beautiful
Swedish, it was clear the Swedish language is as
beautiful as the Italian language, even more, I think
melodious, like listening to classical music without attitude
When August had gone, it had been quite rainy
Came September with soft sunlight and easy breaths
now that the fall was upon us, it was suddenly spring
to fit in with the April season's lambing.
"The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plane."
Not in my vale, we see pregnant clouds hasting by
shedding their load where it is needed, like in the bay
of Cascais
the flowers that grow in this surprise spring have
demure colors, less demonstrative, like saying  
Don't,  get carried away, we have done this before
Despite all this beauty, war is breaking out like
old plaque waking up to strike terror again
this time, Yemen is being bombed by the usual
criminals who have to safeguard the price of oil
In Yemen, where spring has been absent for years
one wonders, has there ever been a spring
in that poor, misbegotten country, yet her people
are heroic, trying to strike at the heart of Zionists
who have made our world  a scary place that
can, due to our cowardice, see the end of the planet
as we knew it, which remains me this time if
there is a September I will try to meet that girl
in Stockholm