Sunday
The sun will climb higher
today, since it’s Sunday.
The breeze flows, and the stack
of the shrub stirs over that hill.
They’ll all dress in festive clothes
and shall keep a light heart
look at the children in the street
look at the flowers in the orchard.
Now that the bells are chiming
god must be true
the clouds are blown far away
the sky becomes immense.
Oh, leave the world in its joy
and come close to me, my soul,
a joyous song I shall sing
for you: the song of death.
Libros Libertad 