They bow
in the wind
loaded with rain
to touch the soil with the flowers
but as soon as the sun reappears
polychrome bushes
always frame
of this eternal Lake Garda
are the garland of my love
every time her eyes stare at the horizon
summer colors
so warm and vivid
that can mistake the pure soul
oleanders
to keep the dreams
of the occasional wayfarer
of the hurried tourist
of the absent-minded lover
and never be forgotten
in the postcard of our mind
