The Strawberry Tree Flower

The Strawberry Tree Flower



On the old bark of madrone from the stream,

Silk circles evoked the days of purity;

down, complaining about the spring murmured ensemillada faragua

and it was like entering a infer vapor loneliness and endless.



And up to doves were scarce and not crawling snakes wanted

retostado by the clay soil and gravel, which is fourth day after day,

letting out the screams of the dryness of the subsoil.



That great purity, evil in power, and in mourning Tornabe angelic

summer wind and quarreled with the tops of the trees, shells and shells were musical ...

old music and unknown

downtime music in our memories,

creepy music with strawberry flower smells,

white butterflies seeking the longevity,

perfumed flowers for miles

of those old sheets uneven and full of nettles and pigweed.



We talked about the flower of the strawberry,

coleccionábamos on snails;

we made a fire and we returned to the people

intoxicated by the scent of the flower of the strawberry

and the mind focused on the white carpet

hanging from the branches of one tree hill.



And the summer wind was still fighting with the tops of the trees, shells and shells were musical, white butterflies ...

old music and unknown

time music found in our memories,

music exotic flower smells of strawberry,

white butterflies seeking the longevity,

perfumed flowers for miles

of those old sheets uneven and full of love and life.



Rene De Leon G.

November 24, 1978