The fifteen and eighteen,
eighteen to twenty ...
I'm going to meet the years
fire that requires me,
my time and if it resonates
before twelve months,
abide the underground.
me I try to stay
memory
sun and sound brave.
If every mouth in Spain,
of his youth, put an
these words, biting,
the best of his teeth
if youth Spain,
a single impulse and green
lift his gallantry,
its widespread muscle
against rampant that appropriating
Spain want,
would Tues throwing
Always move the sand
several horses manure
of their peoples transparent
with endless arm
perpetuates strong foam.
If the Cid returned to nail
those bones still hurt
dust and thought
that hill on his forehead, that
thunder
his soul and the sword indelible
unrivaled on his shadow
of laurels interlaced : (...)
that recorded in our sky constellations
drenched in innocent blood,
climb in his angry horse
and in his anger blue
a tri
down as he knocks crops.
Under sail rain,
and a bunch of dew,
and an army of sun
campaigns
rebel bodies of the English worthy that the yoke was not detected in only,
and clearly follows
and oaks are referred.
Among serious
orderlies are injured
die with the face surrounded
so diaphanous of sunsets,
are auroras
planted around his temples.
seem asleep
silver and gold rest seem.
reached the trenches
and said firmly:
down roots here
before we take anyone!
And death
felt proud to have you .
But in the black spots.
in the darkest, they tend
to mourn for the fallen
mothers who gave them milk,
sisters who washed,
brides who have been in snow
and mourning have become
and have become a fever;
bewildered widows,
scattered women
faithfully
where the eyes are broken
of both seeing and not seeing them,
of such silent tear,
of such beauty away.
Spain:
time passes and stay
with a murmur of bones
heroic in its current. Check
your bones to the field, check
the strength you have
the sullen ranges
and olive oil.
shines upon the hills,
and off the bad people,
and take on the lead,
and shoulder and leg stretches.
Blood without overspill
youth who dares not,
nor blood, nor youth,
or shine, or bloom.
Bodies born losers,
gray up and die:
come with age than a century,
and are older when they come.
always pushes Youth
youth always wins,
and the salvation of Spain
of youth depends.
death with the gun,
before we banish,
before we spit,
before we
affront and before entering ashes
that our people are,
dragged helplessly scream
bitterly
Spain of my life Ay, ay
Spain my death!
NOTE .- Baghlan today these verses as encouragement to those who this week are manifested in the Puerta del Sol in Madrid, demanding a real democracy where rights are not lost, but grow in value. Where politicians do not work to fill their pockets, but for the sake of the people. Mood chic @ s, you have my full support! I also threw me a rebel yell ENOUGH! I hope and know so well put our vote in choosing the best managers for this country ...
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