Vamos juntos al jardín
Conseguirémos como muñecas
escuchando
What The Boy Said
Look into the eyes
On a butterfly’s back
Then tell me about her soul
Not all eyes are windows
Some are doors,
closed
Needing to be opened
Some are hands, empty
needing coins to be placed on them
Nothing is free
Though we were all born that way
Perhaps the cocoon is the price
Of the butterfly’s winged liberation
Not all things can be paid with money
Nor should they be
What hot darkness would you endure
What stink of solitude
To reclaim what at once
You lost after your birth?
by: Raymond Alistair
by: Raymond Alistair
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