I

I, Bard, believer of dawns and sunsets,
I walk the path of wanting to love,
crazy tied to a thousand designs and to so many beings
that it is no longer enough to say that I long to BE.

I, Quixote lose in La Mancha of my domain,
I insist on attacking windmills to solve disputes,
too many to undertake to untwist its tangles
and see to assemble the armor of the sciences.

I don't know if I do well with what I propose,
to return to the fire and to the flames
to stoke the fire and jump with them...very smug,

a lot of firewood to pile up and watch it burn
and in the heat of the gathering of the spark,
to love the good things of dreaming very profoundly.