these bones I have sentences made
and ruminations these temples:
penalty you go, you come brooding
as the sea from the beach sands.
Like the sea from the beach sands,
this I vagaries wreck
through a dark night of pans
round, poor, sad and dark.
Nobody will save me from this wreck
if not your love, try the table,
if not your voice, I intend north.
Stretching so evil omen
that neither of you even be security,
between pain and sorrow I smiled.
Miguel Hernández
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