¿Qué mundos tengo dentro del alma que hace tiempo vengo pidiendo medios para volar?
When the sparrow falls faint without finding its nest, the rose sheds its petals adorning itself with its armor of thorns. The doors of heaven close and the clouds are paintbrushes of restlessness covering the faces of the loved ones. The lagoons freeze and the warmth of the smile pales. The face is a full moon resigned to live without tides. The autumn blooms in the inner garden when loneliness wanders like a nostalgic kiss of rain and sun on a narrow horizon. The memories dress of quietness to say good bye to the poems with the fragility of the flower that one day opened its wings to the wind.