Di Giorgio Dal Santo
white clothed with clouds, like a turban of snow.
Very pure sources of horrid fire, compact fiery rivers flow in the darkness, red flame rolls the rocks thunderously up to the deep plain of the sea.
Smoke and soil; lava tears my bottom and wears out my stretched back.
Shield, volcanic cones and fractures, collapsed eructive centers.
Tall and small. Earthquake.
Towns and villages, fertile crops, dense woods and biodiversity.
You know me and you don't.
I am Tifone, Aitna, "a Muntagna".