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poem for pastors

algunos días más ventosos
el banquete real fue hecho
ochenta años han pasado, y más
dentro de este sepulcro humilde un conqueror miente
su pelo hermoso
ahora para una lucha enérgica y alegre
le hizo ven siempre un cocodrilo
ayer por la noche la Luna Llena puso un paño del blanco
de nuestros lugares ocultados
quién ama la lluvia
pero alas, sueños justos
debajo de la luna de la cosecha

 



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