Cesar Vallejo:
Black RosesBow down your head ol’ poet—
To face God’s grace ahead
There are no more trenchesTo dig today…
In the forest of your head,So—:
Bow down, bow down,Ol’ barbaric poet!
Death rides the horse ahead
I hear the crackling of a whip
See the crazed eyes of death.He summons you to his den—
The devil and his wind,So—:
Bow down, bow down
Your blood stained brows
He will take you to the edge.Closer, closer, I see you now
Eh! a moving satanic cloud—
I see a festival of black-roses,
.