martes, 3 de julio de 2012

Poor feet

Believe that I have a limit
From which it will be very simple
Of a verse, write a refrain
Even if I am the one with greater approach

Something that could always remain
Between memory and fantasy
While you, being the person whom I loved most
For knowing well you would get burnt

Soon you put shoes on your tender feet
Avoiding grass, stony ways
Nature among walnut trees

As if the numerous trash piles
And the old lachrymal fissures
Could perhaps prevent the harvest.