She was the beautiful lady of the river.
It was to see her sitting on the rock, dreaming, a girl
how many moons were born and suffered
in the adventure of a waiting, crying, frail
and the riverbank grew, created the deep, became a river
and time became wrinkles, bare bones rotted.
It took root in the solitude, became the tree that grows
eating the moonlights and the sunsets
and on days of full moons it appears
sitting on the rock, wrapped white in a sheet.
It was to see her sitting on the rock, dreaming, a girl
how many moons were born and suffered
in the adventure of a waiting, crying, frail
and the riverbank grew, created the deep, became a river
and time became wrinkles, bare bones rotted.
It took root in the solitude, became the tree that grows
eating the moonlights and the sunsets
and on days of full moons it appears
sitting on the rock, wrapped white in a sheet.
Jorge d'Alte
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