Retrato

My childhood is memories of a patio in Seville
And a clear orchard where the lemon tree ripens
My youth, twenty years in the lands of Castile
My story, some cases that I don't want to remember

Neither a Mañara seducer, nor a Bradomín have I been
You already know my clumsy clothing arrangement
But I received the arrow that Cupid assigned me
And I loved as much of the hospitable as they could have

There are drops of Jacobin blood in my veins
But my verse springs from a serene spring
And more than a normal man who knows his doctrine
I am, in the good sense of the word, good

I disdain the romances of hollow tenors
And the chorus of crickets singing to the Moon
I stop to distinguish the voices from the echoes
And I hear only, among the voices, one

I talk to the man who always goes with me
He who speaks alone hopes to speak to God one day
My soliloquy is a conversation with this good friend
Who taught me the secret of philanthropy

And in the end, I owe you nothing, you owe me everything I write
I go to work, I pay with my own money
The suit that covers me and the mansion I inhabit
The bread that feeds me and the bed where I lie

And when the day of the last trip comes
And the ship that will never return is about to set sail
You will find me on board with light luggage
Almost naked, like the children of the sea