La más fermosa

Miseries harass me: the path full of abjections and spoils: Salts are transformed into thistles and to our future a petty taste. Repetitive blows of destiny that bored my verses: evictions of the kisses of the sea, thirst for bolts... The beatings that I also inflicted. And already disoriented I bend like the casal spikenard of my wanderer rhyme in the certainty of loss... When you and your look appear, your marine gaze: sown light... Saving me from me: your green eyes. And already disoriented I bend like the casal spikenard of my wanderer rhyme in the certainty of loss... When you and your look appear, your marine gaze: sown light... Saving me from me: your green eyes.