At fourteen one can live on love alone and today it's the birthday that for months he had been waiting for to say “I love you” to his girl with the smile on the mouth and the heart trembling with emotion. The boy runs with the flowers in the hand barely bought and already withered because he cannot pay more, with the hair ruffled by the rain and by the sweat, with the eyes wide opened for the joy and for the pride, with the lips whispering a promise for life.
1°.7.'13
The original poem ("Il primo mazzo di fiori") is in Italian. There is no good translation for a poem. I apologize for mine. Corrections are welcome. As far as the sound of the poem is concerned, please, read the original poem.