Gacela of the Dead Child (Federico Garcia Lorca Poem)
Each afternoon in Granada, each afternoon, a child dies. Each afternoon the water sits down and chats with its companions. ...
Each afternoon in Granada, each afternoon, a child dies. Each afternoon the water sits down and chats with its companions. ...
So I took her to the river believing she was a maiden, but she already had a husband. It was ...
I have shut my windows. I do not want to hear the weeping. But from behind the grey walls. Nothing ...
1. Cogida and death At five in the afternoon. It was exactly five in the afternoon. A boy brought the ...
Never let me lose the marvel of your statue-like eyes, or the accent the solitary rose of your breath places ...
In the sky there is nobody asleep. Nobody, nobody. Nobody is asleep. The creatures of the moon sniff and prowl ...
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