I had been a way for a few days
visiting the aunts of Cascais, and
found my stone horses gone.
Just three cheerless holes were
They had been tethered.
The widening
of the road, they said and for
that beauty must go.
If they decide to make a motorway
close neighbours will be divided.
Sun and rain, spectacular my horses were
before turned into grit.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem