Poem posted in Poems (Author's Poems)
When the moon comes out
bells mute
and paths seem
impenetrable.
When the moon comes out
the sea covers the earth
and the heart becomes...
When the moon comes out
bells mute
and paths seem
impenetrable.
When the moon comes out
the sea covers the earth
and the heart becomes...
The bull does not know you, nor the fig tree,
nor the horses, nor the ants in your own house.
The child and the afternoon do not know you
because you have died for ever.
The back of the stone does not know you,
nor the black stain in which you crumble.
Your silent memory does not know you...
Read other poems by Federico García Lorca »