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Jorge Aimar Francese Hardaick

SAETA

 

ARROW

When the tail of a comet
Subtle touch my pen,
She will be the bolt
Who furrows the blues;
Running old loves
With his poet\'s ink,

But, if it were not so,
Believing in my destiny
I will decline from my verses;
And tie with red roses
The sob of my hands
In the garden of oblivion.

Jorge Aimar Francese Hardaick
Argentina

Derechos reservados del autor (*)

Argentina

(fotografía tomada de la web)