Caminando Por La Hierba
Joan Manuel Serrat
Walking Through the Grass
It was
an evening in September
walking through the grass
where the fairies caught me
for the first time.
Where owls, trees, and bees
whispered in my ear
and the grass,
playing between my fingers,
undressed my soul with kisses,
healed my wounds
and swept away the dust.
Believe me,
believe me that never
was there so much light in the darkness
of my old puzzle.
Believe me that nothing
fills so many cracks
as walking through the grass...
That's why
I often return to the place
where the breeze sweetens,
to feel Venus close,
where life is in the air
where my skin tingles and I play
hopscotch with seven clouds,
and the grass
asks about friends
and the swallows that have flown away
while it tickles me
between my heart and my fingers.
Believe me,
believe me that never
was there so much light in the darkness
of my old puzzle.
Believe me that nothing
fills so many cracks
as walking through the grass.
