Oh, the
winter is gone and spring has fled
And
the nights are long and the days are lead!
And
the rains are here and the skies are dead—
And
the winds are blowing cold in Huancayo.
I
am old and the Andean winds—hark!
To
my tomb they howl and whoop…
Swoop
dray dead leaves around my weak knees,
At
my faintest breath: it all has the chill of death!
With
a fistfuls of gust, they swerve with dust, —
Moan
as I stand alone on my rooftop:
As
the vultures in the evening sky fly low,
Over
rooftops, toward the Lima coast, —
Looking
here and there, but nowhere!
Oh,
the winter is gone and spring has fled
And
the nights are long and the days are lead
And
my faintest breath has the chill of death.
And
the winds are blowing cold in Huancayo.
No: 4741/3-29-2015
