A crippled child Said, "How shall I dance?" Let your heart dance We said. Then the invalid said: "How shall I sing?" Let your heart sing We said Then spoke the poor dead thistle, "But I, how shall I dance?" Let your heart fly to the wind We said. Then God spoke from above "How shall I descend from the blue?" Come dance for us here in the light We said. All the valley is dancing Together under the sun, And the heart of him who joins us not Is turned to dust, to dust.

Now my belly is as noble as my heart.

Let the earth look at me, and bless me, for now I am fecund and sacred, like the palms and the furrows.

Now I am nothing but a veil; all my body is a veil beneath which a child sleeps.

My grief and my smile begin in your face, my son.

Love that stammers, that stutters, is apt to be the love that loves best.

Writing tends to cheer me; it always soothes my spirit and blesses me with the gift of an innocent, tender, childlike day. It is the sensation of having spent a few hours in my homeland, with my customs, free whims, my total freedom.