a letter to Sweden

A letter to Sweden Every year, I say, Come August, I will travel to Sweden but when I go to buy a ticket, the price has gone up and I decide to wait until next year. Once, I met a girl in Stockholm who spoke a beautiful Swedish, it was clear the Swedish language is as beautiful as the Italian language, even more, I think melodious, like listening to classical music without attitude When August had gone, it had been quite rainy Came September with soft sunlight and easy breaths now that the fall was upon us, it was suddenly spring to fit in with the April season's lambing. "The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plane." Not in my vale, we see pregnant clouds hasting by shedding their load where it is needed, like in the bay of Cascais the flowers that grow in this surprise spring have demure colors, less demonstrative, like saying Don't, get carried away, we have done this before Despite all this beauty, war is breaking out like old plaque waking up to strike terror again this time, Yemen is being bombed by the usual criminals who have to safeguard the price of oil In Yemen, where spring has been absent for years one wonders, has there ever been a spring in that poor, misbegotten country, yet her people are heroic, trying to strike at the heart of Zionists who have made our world a scary place that can, due to our cowardice, see the end of the planet as we knew it, which remains me this time if there is a September I will try to meet that girl in Stockholm