18. He sprinkles snow like birds alighting, it comes down like locusts settling. The eye marvels at the beauty of its whiteness, and the mind is amazed at its falling.





“O meu passado, Senhor, à Tua misericórdia. O meu Presente, ao Teu amor. O meu futuro, à Tua Providência.” São Padre Pio de Pietrelcina