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Description
What would we be talking about? One night, I told you, in a low voice, with the trembling of the lovesick: do not open the doors to the sun, in the light I do not feel you are mine; In the garden of silence, a moth flew quickly over, barely in the clarity of the fountain: it was my good dream of renunciation.

Description
What would we be talking about? One night, I told you, in a low voice, with the trembling of the lovesick: do not open the doors to the sun, in the light I do not feel you are mine; In the garden of silence, a moth flew quickly over, barely in the clarity of the fountain: it was my good dream of renunciation.