BEAUTY
In sombre intersections, slaves to a wage
work in the incandescent sunlight,
hawkers and cursed labourers,
all jobs from masonry to selling fruit.
They’ve just one thirst that stays unquenched
when you walk by them, maiden,
your eyes as innocent as doves,
one thirst that stops all other yearnings that they have.
Far away from flowery orchards
deserted by the work’s sweet pull,
one only care they nourish
peacefully, in holy hope,
they gaze at you and whisper, sighing,
God bless, sweet girl, and God protect you.
Libros Libertad 