It was the day, much expected,
I'd agreeded to meet her,
my little woman, and still, for me,
my little child, my love, the greatest.
I felt the fever rushing,
higher and higher, through me,
until it beat me, it knocked me,
completely asleep.
I heard a clean soft bell,
through half-consciousness,
It was her! on the phone,
asking for me, quite upset.
Though weak, suddenly,
it came to me, so clear:
she missed me! , and
was protesting for our meeting I missed.
Next Sunday, lunch together,
next Sunday, I'll see her dear face,
next Sunday, I'll be strong than ever,
I know she loves me, that's all I need.
La Finita
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem