** Facts & Poems **
I long to stroll through the streets of Tiranë in the evening, Where I used to get into mischief, And through the streets where I never got into mischief. Those old wooden doorways know me, They will still hold a grudge against me And will snub their noses at me, But I won‘t mind Because I am filled with longing. I long to stroll through the lanes full of dry leaves, Dry leaves, autumn leaves, For which comparisons can so easily be found.