EPIGRAM
Here in the deserted spring
where the shadow
of a beauty was fooled
and fell in its deep depth
for the water nymphs
on the oak tree branch
a wreath of wildflowers
I would wish to hang
And I beg the cane fields
to sing with flutes
the sorrowful words
and saddened echoes
and for the spring that flows
from the rock’s schism
to pour like a lekythos
its songful tears
Libros Libertad 