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Literature and Ideas

Cold Sun

A noonday park.
Winter. White paths.
Symmetrical mounds,
skeletal branches.
Greenhoused pots
of orange trees;
the barrel of palm
painted with greens.
A stooped old man
chats to his own
old cloak: “The sun,
what beautiful sun!”
Playing kids. Fountain
water slips, runs, dreams
and licks the blue-green
stone. And silence.
Es mediodía. Un parque.
Invierno. Blancas sendas.
Simétricos montículos
y ramas esqueléticas.
Bajo el invernadero,
naranjos en maceta,
y en su tonel, pintado
de verde, la palmera.
Un viejecillo dice
para su capa vieja:
“¡El sol, esta hermosura
de sol!…” Los niños juegan.
El agua de la fuente
resbala, corre y sueña,
lamiendo, casi muda,
la verdinosa piedra.

Antonio Machado

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