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Lorca de martes

5 by April by 2016

Caña de voz y gesto,
una vez y otra vez
tiembla sin esperanza
en el aire de ayer.

La niña suspirando
lo quería coger;
pero llegaba siempre
un minuto después.

¡Ay sol! ¡Ay luna, luna!
Un minuto después.
Sesenta flores grises
enredaban sus pies.

Mira cómo se mece
una vez y otra vez,
virgen de flor y rama,
en el aire de ayer.

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5 COMMENTS

Ann Alexander - 6 by April by 2016, 00:20

Precioso

ixty - 6 by April by 2016, 01:00

Muy bonito

Inho365 - 6 by April by 2016, 09:45

Muy bonito, gracias por el poema!

SackPlanet - 6 by April by 2016, 11:47

bonito poema!

raquel39 - 6 by April by 2016, 14:46

Es muy bonito, gracias por compartirlo.

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Lorca de martes

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