Dialect Poetry of Southern Italy (Italian Poetry in Translation Book 2)

The Skylark

A gunshot rings
and on the poplar
flashes of silver quivering.
A skylark: in its beak
it held the sky ¬─ now there is a dusty streak.
But suspended in the air there’s hanging still
until the end of day the festive trill.
(Translated by Luigi Bonaffini)