I’m Dreaming about Paths

I’m dreaming about afternoon 
paths. The golden 
hills, the green pines,
the dusty oaks!…

Where will the path go?
I’m singing, 
traveler along the trail …
(The afternoon is falling)

“In my heart I had
the thorn of a passion;
I managed to rip it off one day;
I no longer feel my heart. “

And the whole field for a moment
remains, mute and gloomy,
meditating. The wind sounds
in the poplars of the river.

The afternoon grows darker;
and the path that zig-zags
and softly turns white,
becomes cloudy and disappears.

My song wails again;
“Sharp golden thorn,
who could feel you
nailed in the heart.”