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Marzo: nu poco chiove

e n’ato ppoco stracqua

torna a chiòvere, schiove;

ride ‘o sole cu ll’acqua.

Mo nu cielo celeste,

mo n’aria cupa e nera,

mo d’ ‘o vierno ‘e ‘tempeste,

mo n’aria ‘e Primmavera.

N’auciello freddigliuso

aspetta ch’esce o sole,

ncopp’ ‘o tterreno nfuso

suspirano ‘e viole…

Catarì, che vuò cchiù?

Ntienneme, core mio,

Marzo, tu ‘o ssaje, si’ tu,

e st’auciello song’ io.

rispondi

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