When man invented the sun to win the lost war,
I had centuries underestimating the wounded of time.
They are still at war
with spears and swords shining in the museums
So dosiles hands, so fierce thought,
nothing is the same when the minutes ask for the mercy of the neighbor
And there is when the flowers smell of tenderness
the tears of the heart are like pieces of glass scattered in the snow,
When the sun goes down, its glint is reflected, in the river and in the sea.
