She is not made of topaz,
sapphire or lapizlazuli.
She is not the Rubi throated Humming bird.
She never gives her presence for those who moan.
It hides into the innocence of wild coatí.
It is in the color of green emerald grass.
Sometimes is the golden foam at Spring time.
Many times it releases a tired back.
There are moments when pines murmure her name.
Hope is an oasis in the Sahara,
An horizon for the eye,
Violets and daphodils in the sky,
But first and foremost
She is the residence of a soul in love.