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Spills his smile warm summer. It was rocky in the yards. I've come to her with the flock's hopes, fill them with expectation again. White acacias bloom near the road. The tops are dressed in green. Under the roofs - swallows perched; the children, oblige their knees. The day is born in bread mixed, ripens in the nights when it tastes and at the evening of the songwriters singers they announce the village as soon as the twilight falls. And the twilight, draws a silhouette of an old house. The gates of the gate, the windows and no one ever comes back. She's standing here, long abandoned, even without breath - her chimney does not smoke. Her soul sigh is dimmed and only at night the wind listens to it