the grass still smoky
Following south
this bluish walk
Something relieves me
This morning pain
I feel a joy
That my routine
That's not irony
Are rare moments
It really is a symphony
The singing of birds
In remembrance old loves
and I continued laughing
now we are just friends
I do not want to be regressing
There is no time machine
Those golden years
It was just a hobby
How many wasted dreams
Rich is one that has stories to tell
This is an inheritance
its role is to interpret
as payment of his bail
In my memory
It is childhood
The beginning of the story
Much importance
I was happy with as little
In the character inocencia
I'm hoarse from screaming
to play in the sequence
I never heard complain
the shortage that remained
just wanted to look
and a hug thanked
I'm getting old here
sitting on the porch and staring at nothing
remembering what's left
my little journey
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