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spanish poem

un cielo che non ha conosciuto mai il sole, la luna o le stelle
nobility della morte ancora
chi chiamerŕ il vento
la mia madre lo ha insegnato che ogni notte
nella sfera
in vostri bracci era il piacere tranquillo
ho visto con gli occhi aperti
tutti quei tesori che si trovano
vecchio vino da bere
corsa alto-sopportata
quegli occhi neri i una volta cosě elogiato
penso spesso alla cittŕ bella
il mio dispiacere, quando č qui con me
ho vinto la corsa

 



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