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retirement poem

quién ama la lluvia
haga a muchachos y las muchachas todavía van
cuál era él los motores dichos
flor blanca de la espuma, flor roja de la llama
para mirar todo el dia la onda azul encresparse y romperse
cuando libertad de su altura de la montaña
espléndido y terrible su amor
tiene usted el caminar visto a través de la aldea
cómo como las estrellas es este el blanco, las caras sin nombre
me preguntan donde he estado
el existir del cisne
debajo de la luna de la cosecha

 



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