Summer by Carlo Betocchi | Poetry Magazine

And it grows, the vain

Share And it grows, the vain summer, even for us with our bright green sins: behold the dry guest, the wind, as it stirs up quarrels among magnolia boughs and plays its serene tune on the prows of all the leaves— and then is gone, leaving the leaves still there, the tree still green, but breaking the heart of the air. Notes: Read the translator's notes on this poem. Copyright Credit: Carlo Betocchi, Tutte le poesie , © Garzanti Editore spa, 1996. Source: Poetry (March 2010)

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