Thy eyes touch the sunny hill
– going ahead of the road we began –
where the wind lashes the mill
and the greyish clouds cover the sun.
See how beautiful is the fork in the road
where everything is made so clear.
There the rhymes have your fortune showed
and poetry tells how to dry that tear
that appears in your face, soft and sad,
revealing the warmth in thy soul and heart.
I’ll write you poems! I’ll make you glad
being the cupid who throws the dart.
Sailing the wind, we’ll see it cease
and take its fierce to start again the quest:
of helping to lovers finding their peace;
as he brought you closer to my open chest.
Oh, marmoreal and petrified flowers,
the wind rushes no longer!
In thy blossoming, dancing bowers
It will let ye rest!
Helena Fonseca (11B)