A Cri-crí

The Cricket

In a book of tales
lives a small cricket
with his old violin
made of dreams,

that every morning
leaves his house
to sow stories in the wind.

He's a friend of birds and flowers,
of little and big bunnies,
playmate of the elves
who are awake when everyone sleeps.

Last night he was at my house
and many tales
he came to tell me
he spoke of evil witches
and chocolate castles.

And in the quiet night
of beach fireflies
I learned the story of a spider
that danced late
in a sordid suburb.

Suddenly we set sail
to the sea on a pirate ship,
two brave sailors
under a sky embroidered with silver,

amidst the giant waves
brave and serene
I always saw him
and when I asked his name
with a smiling gesture
he said: 'Cri-crí'

In a book of dreams
there's an awake wizard
with his old violin
full of tales.