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mother poem

el sentarse en su eje de balancín que espera su té
los días melancólicos han venido
mi alma va revestida en cosas magníficas
reservado, con reverance, en temor
hice un voto una vez, uno solamente
a través del pecho de dolor de la amplia tierra
vi con los ojos abiertos
con la puesta del sol
era no para ese olor singular
dice de buenas viejas épocas
todo mi amor para mi dulce
hago mi cubierta, pero nadie sabe

 



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