In the field half gray and half black
A plow stays without oxes, that seems
Forgotten, in the light vapour.

And the rhytmic washing of the laudresses
Comes from the milcourse
With its thick splashes and long singsongs.

The wind blows and the frond snows under,
And you still don't return to your town!
When you left, how I stayed!
As the plow, in the middle of the fallow.
(Translated from Italian by P.G.Mazzarello)

Paolo Giuseppe Mazzarello

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/from-g-pascoli-the-washerwomen/