You get up early
crafty peasant
and you pick up in your hands
the wine of life.

It runs through your veins
the passion of the nobility
that hides behind hearts
of the lucky hummingbirds.

Who knew you
wise man and feeder,
of houses and men,
of animals and roads.

Source

You walk with the hat sun,
digging through the bushes
to borrow from the earth
the fruits of love.

I want to be a happy peasant
have a pinch of your mercy
to also win recognition
of a life lived.

See, man with callused hands,
rests between the curvature of the moon
because of tomorrow at dawn
will be my words who will feed you.

For more:

Ma' Papa' [an old man poem]


Let's make it possible! [a real-dreaming poem]


Remembering [a laughing poem]

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