It's a garden
hidden in the depths of my memory,
a blue garden in the morning
where black irises grew.
A garden I’ve dreamed
oh, that one day I may enter it
and rest forever
near the deserted grave
of Laura.
I’ll know the threshold
by the noise of the rusty grid,
the well place under the linden trees,
we drank there on summer days,
by removing the gillyflowers,
the dark and icy mosses,
the frightened centipedes,
near the deserted grave
of Laura.
Oh, I wish I could die in this garden
in the quiet shade of tall pines
may finally open the roses
closed
for such a long time.
It's a garden
hidden in the depths of my memory,
a blue garden when evening comes,
where two laurels trees have grown.
A garden where I cried so much
oh, let one day I may enter it
and rest forever
near the perfumed grave
of Clara.
We will have laughter
like sparrows flights,
loud, clear laughter from young girls,
fresh laughter like streams,
like laughter of happy people.
We’ll reinvent the time
of days when we had time
to talk about gardens in bloom
and things of the heart.
~ ~
Oh, I wish to live again in this garden
in the quiet shade of tall pines
may finally open the roses
closed
for such a long time,
there.