Cannonau of Sardinia.
The shoots, taken from inner joys, perform in dances to bloom and the colors, as they are going crazy, piled up to possess each other.
The red berries of Cannonau, protected by cork stems, in the song of the mistral wind, accomplices await the echoing noises of time.
Sentenziano the end of the heat, how nice the late harvest that cheers up the whims of the happy laborers.
Now it's gone, silence remains and the complex and infinite perfumes of man's love, with my glass I extend a smile that speaks of me, of me inside, like a vineyard in autumn.Piero Canopoli