Without doubt I praise the wild excellence.
From sorrow to sorrow love crosses its islands and establishes roots that are watered by weeping.
my feet will want to walk to where you are sleeping but I shall go on living.
Give me your hand out of the depths sown by your sorrows.
It was at that age that poetry came in search of me.
About me, nothing worse they will tell you, my love, than what I told you