Ustinassiù

Cóme di fòe sèche
che ‘n bóf ligér del vènt
a l’destèca piàn pià
de la sò pianta
che, dòpo ‘na sgürlida
e ‘na planada ‘n giro,
cóme ö süspìr,
i pògia zó per tèra,
zalde,
issé l’è la mé éta
adèss che l’è al tramónt
(che zà l’è stacia lónga!).

Sènte mancàm i fórse,
i möimèncc i è grév
e spèss só dré a crodà!
Epör me ustine amò,
sigür, me asche
spèss
a cuturà di sògn
...forbé zamò cuàcc!

Like dry leaves
that a light
breath of wind
detaches from the branch,
that after a
shake
and a gentle glide around,
like a sigh,
settle on the ground
yellow —
so is my life
now that I am at sunset
(which has already been long!).

I feel
my strength fading,
my movements heavy,
and often
I feel like dozing off!
And yet I still persist —
indeed, I’m still tempted,
often,
to caress some dreams
perhaps already cherished before!