The country wraps with its mists
figures of beggars in the corners.

From the dust sprout walkers
as drops of the downpour.

The bronze of the bells
They sound in search of an impossible song.

And, closed your ears
that they never learned to listen.

The country is first of all
the negation of the outcrop.

Flower buds that will open
in other lands.

Separator

Photos by pixabay 1 2