Friday, October 03, 2008

Feed the pigeons




Feed the pigeons for me
when you get to Covent Garden,
let the cool wind dishevel your hair
as my fingers might do,
were I touching your lips
on a typical Blighty morning.

Greet the equinoctial deciduous sun
while strolling down Hyde Park,
and when your gaze reaches the sky,
let the warmth of the surrounding light
remind your distant senses,
I could be the hoister of some concealed flag.

Think of me, mind and soul,
when contemplating the Moon at dusk,
for I shall in-avertedly kiss your naked cheek
as a vespertine spirit, set loose on the brisk wind,
dancing with faeries and hobgoblins at night.


*En realidad no sé de donde me salió esto. Debe ser por los sentimientos encontrados que tengo por Inglaterra.