In the solitude of the holiday
I go out to hold the street
I fill myself with its amiable calm
and I watch the flying of the birds
the calmed pigeons walking
there is no haste
I roll through the squares and the corners
I stop in the middle of the path
I caress the bark of the lonely tree
That shakes with joy
the day is lighter and the air cleaner
There is a tenous light at the distance
I can see the volcano
and the big mountains
and the sun that watches
I ditto Byron.