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Sometimes A Piece Of Sun Burned Like A Coin In My Hand.
-Pablo Neruda
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Sometimes A Piece Of Sun
Pablo Neruda
Sometimes A Piece Of Sun Burned Like A Coin In My Hand.
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Hands
Coins
Pieces
More From Pablo Neruda
Maybe Nothingness Is To Be Without Your Presence, Without You Moving, Slicing The Noon Like A Blue Flower, Without You Walking Later Through The Fog And The Cobbles, Without The Light You Carry In Your Hand, Golden, Which Maybe Others Will Not See, Which Maybe No One Knew Was Growing Like The Red Beginnings Of A Rose. In Short, Without Your Presence: Without Your Coming Suddenly, Incitingly, To Know My Life, Gust Of A Rosebush, Wheat Of Wind: Since Then I Am Because You Are, Since Then You Are, I Am, We Are, And Through Love I Will Be, You Will Be, We Will Be.
Flower
Moving
Light
The Word Was Born In The Blood, Grew In The Dark Body, Beating, And Took Flight Through The Lips And The Mouth. Farther Away And Nearer Still, Still It Came From Dead Fathers And From Wondering Races, From Lands Which Had Turned To Stone, Lands Weary Of Their Poor Tribes, For When Grief Took To The Roads The People Set Out And Arrived And Married New Land And Water To Grow Their Words Again. And So This Is The Inheritance; This Is The Wavelength Which Connects Us With Dead Men And The Dawning Of New Beings Not Yet Come To Light.
Father
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Why Do Trees Conceal The Splendor Of Their Roots?
Roots
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The Night Is Shattered, And The Blue Stars Shiver In The Distance.
Stars
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Fue Adondo A Mi Me Perdieron Quw Logre Por Fin Encontrarme? Was It Where They Lost Me That I Finally Found Myself?
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