Thrice days past the bird has flown
and despair for you that fold grown.
Tis easier I do forlorn beleive
to write these lines
than increase ones grieve.
Your satin skin is as of fawn to touch
and embrace of lips for my heart too much.
Of these things I never versed
for mine was not
of the laurets curse.
First Edition Translation of Teselas by Carmen Crespo X111 César Simón Poetry Prixe 2016 Translated from Spanish by Robin Ouzman Hislop and Amparo Arrospíde
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