High Chairrocking Horse Desk Plans

Not just a lake

This poem is dedicated to a place, a place that for me has a huge magic.
was a long time I wanted to describe this place but I never found the right words.
Now I have found.

Seagulls are flying low,
all merry, merry
fishermen moor their boat at the dock, all
quiet
with the sound of water clashes with the pier, the streets still
ancient
traveled by bicycle,
is the atmosphere of Lake Como.

Those small hamlets, small
as plans of buildings,
where everyone knows everyone,
everyone knows everything and everyone knows everyone,
everyone knows everything and everyone knows all
children can go out alone because,
everyone knows everyone and everyone knows everyone.

see the dawn,
get people off the roads to reach their jobs,
dawn you hear the creaking of shutters of shops,
feel healthy because
everyone knows everyone and everyone knows everyone.

There is frenzy,
no frenzy in the people, there is anxiety
,
there,
there is no traffic, no rush
,
there is no fear, no loneliness
,
there because
everyone knows everyone and everyone knows everyone.

The end of the day is not an end,
continues the adventure of life,
because there is no rush on Lake Como,
all ready to live, to dream all ready
,
all ready to wake up again and pronounce that word,
"Hello."

The shops are populated, the shops are frequented
because
there is the ruin of society:
the mall,
all the shops and look out in front of them,
the lake, with its mountains
encountered form a perfect curve.

world apart from that of Lake Como,
but surrounded by a stereotype,
invented, invented
regions envious of the beauty,
not so much of the landscape, but
,
society that gives life, who goes
holiday
a wonderful dream.