“Poor
flower”
by
Manuel Acuńa
"Why do I look at you so
downcast,
Poor flower?
Where are the fineries of your
life?
And the color?
"Tell me, why are you so sad,
Sweet good one?
--"Who? The devouring and
crazy delirium
Of a love,
That I was consuming little by
little
In pain!
Because loving with all the
tenderness
of the faith,
The creature did not want to love
me
Which I loved.
And that's why I'm withered and
sad here,
Always crying in my accursed pain,
Always like that!"--
Said the flower! ...
I moaned ... it was just like the memory
of my love.