Roman Anecdote

Every evening, at sunset, a company of green parrotsWould leave the fig trees in the gardenAnd fly east, over the city—, or fly west, over the city.

        When they flew east,    They flew chattering,Pieces of ripe figs falling from their orange beaks.

        When they flew west,    They flew chattering,Pieces of ripe figs falling from their orange beaks.

Every morning, at sunset, those parrotsWould fly, pieces of ripe figs falling in the garden, over the city,To the west and to the east.

Later, the fig trees empty of parrots, the night come full and low,The garden would stretch luxurious in every direction,In the moonlightAnd in the starlight.