multi culti in progress

My had is filled with garden paths.
In gardens swing the swings.
Italian old ladies cuddle espresso cups,
statistical terms stumble over lipsticks,
unfinished poems.
Encoded in different linguas,
timezones, etcetera...
Why does the sun rises and who makes the rain?
Why don't the mountains hide when it's dark,
and do the wolves ever feel bad about the poor lambs?
Szarlotka tastes only in polish
my new perfume scents bloomy, in german,
in english sounds my favourite movie.
In italian my memories get tanned, lazy and odd
How many things I can't recognise?
How many things I don't know of
'cause I don't know their tongues ?