PROFETA
Estrellas saltaban al suelo,
plasmado del azul del mar
miraba una blanca paloma
tu triste peregrinar.
Buscando la dulce sonrisa
una flor rego con su aroma
el carmesí de sus hojas
y el beso de un madrigal.
En la llanura perenne
donde la lluvia es más fina
pasta el amor de mi vida
crece con dulce agonía.
Si con románticos besos
sueña la aurora del hombre
es porque el sol se nos esconde
con su brillante alegría.
Quiere el triste profeta
seguir con su andar por el mundo,
no quiere la mujer coqueta
los halagos que le son nauseabundos.
Libertad y Pensamiento 
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