The Sadness of the Moon
Rambles in the middle of the night the lazy moon;
As a beauty, between thrones and daydreams,
Who strokes with and hand,
Before I fall asleep, the contour of the breasts.
On the back of the tender tender
Dying, she delivers to long throws,
And the eyes will be landing on the niveas spots
That in the blue we bloom likes strange flowers
If sometimes in this globe, drunk of leisure and pleasure,
Let her a stealth tear drain
A charitable poet, sleepless nights.
In the concave of the hands makes that drop care,
From Irisados reflexes like a grain of Opal,
And far away from the sun, it takes her in the chest.