Cantares

Everything happens and everything is
But our thing is to pass
Pass making paths
Paths over the sea

I never chased glory
Nor leave in memory
Of men, my song

I love the subtle worlds
Weightless and gentle
Like soap foam

I like to see them painted
Of sun and scarlet, fly
Under the blue sky, tremble
suddenly and break

I never chased glory

Walker
Your footprints are the path and nothing more
Walker, there is no path
The path is made by walking
When you walk, you make a path
And when I look back
You see the path that never
It has to be stepped on again
Walker, there is no path
But wakes in the sea

Some time ago, in that place
Where today the forests are dressed in thorns
The voice of a poet was heard shouting
Walker, there is no path
The path is made by walking
Blow by blow, verse by verse

He died the poet away from home
The dust of a neighboring country covers him
As they walked away, they saw him crying
Walker, there is no path
The path is made by walking
Blow by blow, verse by verse

When the finch can not sing
When the poet is a pilgrim
When it is of no use to pray
Walker, there is no path
The path is made by walking
Blow by blow, verse by verse

Blow by blow, verse by verse
Blow by blow, verse by verse