Three hundred nights like three hundred walls
must rise between my love and me
and the sea will be a black art between us.
Nothing will be left but memories.
O afternoons earned with suffering,
nights hoping for the sight of you,
fields along my way, firmament
that I am seeing and losing...
Final as marble
your absence will sadden other afternoons.
Translation from the spanish original found at:
http://spanishpoems.blogspot.hu/2006_12_01_archive.html?m=1
Nincsenek megjegyzések:
Megjegyzés küldése