“Poor flower”

by

Manuel Acuńa

 

"Why do I look at you so downcast,

Poor flower?

Where are the fineries of your life?

And the color?

 

"Tell me, why are you so sad,

Sweet good one?

--"Who? The devouring and crazy delirium

Of a love,

That I was consuming little by little

In pain!

Because loving with all the tenderness

of the faith,

The creature did not want to love me

Which I loved.

 

And that's why I'm withered and

sad here,

Always crying in my accursed pain,

Always like that!"--

Said the flower! ...

I moaned ... it was just like the memory

of my love.

 

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