Carlos Drummond de Andrade

I missed the trolley and the hope.
Pale, I go back home.
The street is useless and no car
would drive over my body.

I will climb the slow steep slope
where paths are blended
All of them lead to
the beginning of drama and flora.

I do not know if I am suffering
or if is someone having fun
(and why not?) in the scarce night
with an insoluble piccolo.

And we, long time ago
shouted yes! to eternity.