Over night’s scarf,
A velvety sound breaks the gloom,
The field where it was hidden a dwarf,
-an innocuous being on a bloom-
with its strong shell
towards world beyond,
that universe numbed in a bell
whose string was replaced by
a birdsong.

It is the whistle of a nightingale,
with flawless songs of melancholy
for that snail
lost in his own shell;
he has wondered and cried deeply,
because no one could open his world,
invaded of lights after rains
and sparkles of love.

Miscellaneous melodies thrill
the snail, trying to uncover it
from afar, upon a hill,
at a mystic time in a night
of spring;
but a voice from inside the shell
screams tight,
it was the last sign of life
from undiscovered snail’s world,
which not longer belong
to our sky;
there it’s flying only the snail’s friend
with its healing song.