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funeral poem

el sol está para arriba
en y de sí mismo
veo todos los ingenios humanos
el amor se ha cantado mil maneras
la señora, su corazón ha dado vuelta al polvo
la oscuridad
en sus brazos estaba el placer inmóvil
vea, de esta falsificación de él
no esté enojado con mí
no cuelgue ninguna guirnalda
burly, humilde-abeja el dormitar
no se aflija que encima
evidenciado en la luz tenue en sus ojos
con la puesta del sol

 



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