¿Dónde estás, prenda querida?
Isabel Parra
Where are you, dear love?
Where are you, dear love,
owner of my thoughts?
Where are you, that you don't hear
my sighs and laments?
I ask the sky why
fate treats me so badly
that without being at fault,
a feeling kills me.
A feeling kills me
from the moment I remember.
It's madness, it's confusing,
but why do I remember?
For all the company,
green olive bud,
where could there be greater sorrow
than an unjustified scorn?
