Whence the sun goes to the sea,*

Whence the Sun goes to the Sea,
Me takes the boat out of waters,
And keeping it at rest, at the Lea,
How me goes quite  to see
You, la amore, after the day long works,
There, in you me finds the dusk slow
Coming to us, at the end of the day's row,

There , perhaps, you for me make
truffles, pizza, Breads and cheesy cakes,
Then the aroma sets me how up,
In thy hands, love, me finds the smell
Of flour, coca, cream, how in your hair
Me finds tiny floating hanging loose,
Choco chips, little tiny brownies, flakes,

Just then perhaps, someone starts singing,
Strumming the guitar, a lovely tune,
At the end of a day's works,
Whence keeping the boat outside, at rest,
Me gets indoors, how by thy face, me glows,
There, in you , how me the dusk singing slow.

(*Note: loosely based upon a painting as attached. Courtesy: Sam Carlo)


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