Customize Consent Preferences

We use cookies to help you navigate efficiently and perform certain functions. You will find detailed information about all cookies under each consent category below.

The cookies that are categorized as "Necessary" are stored on your browser as they are essential for enabling the basic functionalities of the site. ... 

Always Active

Necessary cookies are required to enable the basic features of this site, such as providing secure log-in or adjusting your consent preferences. These cookies do not store any personally identifiable data.

No cookies to display.

Functional cookies help perform certain functionalities like sharing the content of the website on social media platforms, collecting feedback, and other third-party features.

No cookies to display.

Analytical cookies are used to understand how visitors interact with the website. These cookies help provide information on metrics such as the number of visitors, bounce rate, traffic source, etc.

No cookies to display.

Performance cookies are used to understand and analyze the key performance indexes of the website which helps in delivering a better user experience for the visitors.

No cookies to display.

Advertisement cookies are used to provide visitors with customized advertisements based on the pages you visited previously and to analyze the effectiveness of the ad campaigns.

No cookies to display.

Sonetti romaneschi. ‘A libbreria

Sonetti romaneschi, ‘A Libbreria. Testo e voce narrante: Federico Berti

Sonetti romaneschi
‘A libbreria

Testo di Federico Berti

L’autore di Trilussa contro Maciste
Libro/Ebook, Audiolibro

Poesia dedicata al gruppo di lettura ‘Leggiamo’,
ogni lunedi e giovedi h 13:15 su Clubhouse

Su lo scaffale de la libbreria
ce stà un libbretto antico quant’er monno
ciò scritto su tutta la vita mia
e tutti quanti a scribbacchià ce ponno.

C’è chi ce mette su quarche poesia,
chi un trattatello che conciglia er sonno,
chi la dissertazzione e l’omelia
a tutti prima o dopo j’arisponno.

Perché ce stanno puro i libbri loro
io me ce fionno pe buttacce l’occhi
so’ tutti scritti coll’argento e l’oro.

Ce lascio su treqquattro scarabbocchi
poi li rimetto tutti ar posto loro
che qua fiorisce tutto indove tocchi.

Condividi