In bocca lupa: Rain;
wet forests filled with silver trees,
a shadowed oak with darkened leaves,
a bird whose wings beat off the frigid wind—
rain is falling down,
a rising mist is autumn\'s crown;
a Sanguine flower in the light,
its petals clasped with Summer\'s parting kiss.
How I wonder at your tenderness,
I could not touch you and remain the same;
In bocca lupa:
Rain is falling down.