Iraultza Askerria

Al campo

 Tierra abierta al estío campesino

bajo rayos dorados.

Viste la flor de trigo el camino,

puente de faustos hados.

 

Cantan los pajaritos, el molino

trae cánticos de arpados.

Pétalos, néctar, litros de buen vino

cubren labios regados.

 

El tiempo ora invernal

de mi ciudad ahogada

me recuerda el final

 

de aquella era pasada;

evolución fatal

que agota mi balada.

 

 

Iraultza Askerria

http://iraultzaaskerria.wordpress.com/


 

All rights belong to its author. It was published on e-Stories.org by demand of Iraultza Askerria.
Published on e-Stories.org on 21.11.2010.

 

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