The end of May in San Gimignano

In San Gimignano A man on a ladder Was pruning his olive tree. He told me he had to Cut the branches That were growing high In order to grow more olives. He explained ``la branca'' And I asked him if I could Have a branch. I hear A dog barking, birds talking, One bell busy, And I have in the back seat The olive branch he threw down to me. ``Che bella,'' I said, and ``Per pace.'' ``Per pace,'' he said, And even as I write I hear him clipping.

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