Rulitos

Scented like verbena bushes
On her forehead, her curls of saffron
Seemed, as they bubbled in her mane,
The bubbles of a glass of champagne...

It was undoubtedly an irony of Destiny
That gilded those little rings for her
Because only a chimera of gold and wine
Was the deceitful happiness she lived.

...And trusting too much in her treasure,
Among loves that died with the day,
Like someone giving away pretty gold beads,
She distributed the memory of her curls...

But with the afternoon hour came
The fatigue, the forgetfulness, and the sadness
And nameless, loveless, and beautyless,
In the glory of her nickname she fell asleep.