NINETY-SEVENTH SONNET
In times to come, that my existence will not reach Just like now, on a sweet afternoon just like this one, In the pink haze where dreams fall drunk If my reader hears a noise similar to a heartbeat
Let him know that it is my heart that beats so passionately. These are the bitter roses of the hearth of pain Decorating the horizons with their poetic beauty. The most heartfelt time to dream is towards the evening.
You will be left alone in a field No one sees you except the eyes of the evening star, The girl you once loved has grown old, just like you, far away.
You have no universe other than your old dreams. Everyone is an enemy to your poetry, your thoughts, your bread, Only a single yellow light seeps through the centuries to come.