By the sea,
The rolling waves call to me.
They woo and
invite me in.
Should writers ever cease writing
Lay down their quills and their inks
Keep epics, prose, and poems hidden
In their heads where no one sees,
I told my mom on Sunday morning
I know what I wish for my birthday
I don't want video games nor trucks
All I want is a tiger's touch.
Song of the Ephemeral Love
(Translated from Spanish by Juana Cruz)
Who sopped up my tears before
when I cried alone
when I dared show no one
ThatI'd rather groan