In the middle of the condominial courtyard,
surrounded by pines and by cypresses,
scented by dark green allot hedges,
the fountain repeats, with liquid echoes,
the frantic cries of the children,
who chase each other along the cracking
and white gravel of the driveways.
at the fountain edges, thirsty perch
sparrows and pigeons, that it welcomes
slaking their thirst with its limb hands,
curved to form diaphanous cups.
will it quench also the thirst of that poet,
appearing for a moment at his window,
in the hope that the wind coming from west
will sweep away the crusts of his tiredness?