Save

Look, sister, this beauty:

I need nothing

save the earth

that never seems to tire

of begetting us;

save the rain

that seems to murmur its charm

when it plucks its feathers;

save the sun

that laughs in the corn and wheat

as it shines on us:

save the wind

that goes about lifting skirts

without distances;

save the moon

that is pure milk of the sea

and looks at us in love;

save for the seed

that walks with its sweet little chest

of hopes;

save the furrow

which is the signing of the cause.

Alfredo Mires