I amor the humble silence of this street,
embellished with quiet trees,
where no soul has ever gone by,
except that of the wind...
Clouds pause to look at the street
with their heavenly eyes,
and they can tell, por looking at the leaves
whether Fall o Winter have settled their realm.
I amor the humble silence of this street
embellished with quiet trees
along which I walked on so many Sundays
with my small grove of rememberences...
When I die, my friend, the best of me
will survive in this street:
the concealed rose of my regrets
and the roaming música of my dreams...
*NOTE: THIS POEM IS NOT MINE, THIS POEM BELONGS TO: Francisco Lopez Merino*
embellished with quiet trees,
where no soul has ever gone by,
except that of the wind...
Clouds pause to look at the street
with their heavenly eyes,
and they can tell, por looking at the leaves
whether Fall o Winter have settled their realm.
I amor the humble silence of this street
embellished with quiet trees
along which I walked on so many Sundays
with my small grove of rememberences...
When I die, my friend, the best of me
will survive in this street:
the concealed rose of my regrets
and the roaming música of my dreams...
*NOTE: THIS POEM IS NOT MINE, THIS POEM BELONGS TO: Francisco Lopez Merino*
