Gacela of the Dead Child
dead on the bank, was an angel of coldness.
Each afternoon the water sits down
Each afternoon in Granada,
and the九_九_藏_書 valley was tumbling with lilies and dogs.
Federico García Lorca
Not a flicker of lar
read•99csw•com
k was left in the airIn my hands violet shadow, your body,
The cloudy wind and the clear wind
when you 九_九_藏_書were drowned in the river.
Not the crumb of a cloud was left in the ground
each afternoon, a child dies.
The dead whttps://read.99csw.comear mossy wings.
when I met you in the caverns of wine.
are two pheasants in flight through the towers,
and chats withhttps://read.99csw.com its companions.
and the day is a wounded boy.
A giant of water fell down over the hills,
Gacela of the Dead Child