Ìmage](http://2esobsantjust.blogspot.com/2018/05/soy-muy-feo-poema.html)
Among verses, letters, illusions and dreams....
Dancing in the sidereal sky are illusions and dreams
that the poet fills the souls and makes them dream....
The seated notebook, pensive, tries
in his thoughts what to do with so many pages
in order to create an illusion of the heart....
Through his thoughts he calls the poet.
The great writer to stamp on its fine leaves poems of love.
Dreams that like new shoots are reborn through the heart....
On nights of magic moon with his thought
the writer calls the divine and magical pen....
Very lazy and delicate sketches a smile.
How much I have slept my dear and great poet.
Allow me my dear friend the notebook ....
And there to the rhythm of Bethoven's notes
that with their magic make the stars dance.
Every heart, every soul rejoices of the poet
or poet that through his verses and lyrics
that the enchanted hand of the poet is furrowing
the heavens through his fine pen....
Dreams are born from the hand of illusions
new ones through the spaces of the heart
of the songs of the soul...