The large oak
that had always watched
like a guardian at the edge of the meadow
one day saw him appear from afar:
an old man with a somewhat slow step...
Come, old man, I will be your shelter,
I will welcome your tired body in a sweet embrace,
Come, old man, I will be your shelter,
to the song I will rock your head with the branches...
The old man
entrusted himself to the oak tree
and then sweetly fell asleep...
The man slept
and between he smiled
with his old head resting on his hand:
He dreamed of having become a butterfly,
of having left his old body...
the yellow butterfly on another flower she rested,
that she had become a sleeping old man then she dreamed

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