"Why do I look at you like that, so dejected..."

by

Manuel Acuña



“Why do I look at you like that so dejected,

poor flower?

Where is the finery of your life

and the color?


“Tell me, why do you devour yourself with sadness,

sweet blessing?”

“Who?—The delirious, devouring craziness

of love,

for which I was consuming myself little by little

with pain!

Because loving with all the tenderness

of faith,

I did not want to love the creature

that I loved.


And that's why without finery I wilt

sadly here,

always crying in my accursed pain,

Always, always!"—

Thus spoke the flower!...

I moaned ... it was the same as the memory

of my love.



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