La Mort De L'avi

There are no laughs, only tears. There are no songs, only moans. It seems like everything is in mourning in this seafaring corner. In the tavern, the fishermen are all silent, they say nothing, and the women, in the church, pray for the grandfather. Everyone will go to the funeral, everyone will say: 'how good he was!' Everyone will know how to speak well of him, maybe someone will cry out of sorrow. But not out of love, because, to the old man, they only gave him the boat, the sky and the tools, the net, the wind and the blue of the sea. The next day everything has changed, because nobody thinks about the old man. The fishermen are at sea, the boys play in the street. But on the beach, full yesterday, only one boat remains, with a net that will never again kiss the sea. It will never kiss the sea again, nevermore.