There are days
when I feel beating in my veins
all the victorious strength of my youth
and it seems to me
that I am rich of I know not what.
And yet I am not different
from the beggar who stands
at the corner of the street.
He begs of men a piece of bread,
I the kindness of a word:
both of us want to live.
I Manoscritti / Original Typescripts · 1 foglio
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