spring came ... 
Spring is life ...
... a life like that gives us the spring every morning. A blessed life in this village, the continent of my universe, called the dawn. A brave, bordering the dawn of a new history with the awakening of the languid grace of God. A story that begins with a warm rays of sun it heats, simply burnished roofs and terraces, during the genesis of a glow with which sockets and immaculate cobblestone light off the moon. And the palette of colors that the sky dreams, gives us a crimson blush makes the presumed storks in the belfries stretched. And Arahal awake with joyful singing of the swallows and refreshes your face with lime water spray combines overnight. And her hair made palm trees dance in the breeze combs, while playing with jasmine blossoms and lilies to perfume streets and squares full story. Towards
the streets and squares this balcony is now looking jealously guarded and will open before you, Arahal, so you look like a mirror. But do not hurry. Let me enjoy you and your love in love.
Arahal Let me tell you one thing,
and let me say it in verse,
because I could not tell in prose,
what you are in my universe. Your
streets, squares and Costanilla,
continent of boundless love, that between Gordale
and Manzanillo,
draw an ocean of olive trees.
Your history teacher taught me. Your
breeze Toy vanes. Your
towers, home of the storks.
Your heavens, the lyre of the poets.
Your God and mine: Jesus of Nazareth.
Your gift, a monkey of olives.
Your prayer, the faith of the preacher. Your
canopy, the stars and moon,
embroidering the sky.
And you spray, clear water where God
to cool down one morning and gave him
, Arahal, much love,
always returns at dawn.
(From my cry. 2003)
