Outside, the incipient yellow rays,
The dawn is tender, flowers bloom later
of recent shadows.
The palate of sleep in the mouth
eyes lighten forest green
and the birds wake up in the throat.
The city stretches its empty streets
the fog bites slow steps
on the pavement.
An old man stifles tears
in a corner, the few gifts
tremble in your hands,
the soul hurts dawning the day.
From the window the little world,
open, sore wound bleeds.
The Angelus announces itself in the distance
sounds, when the birds flutter
on a rusty cross and alfolies
are filled with coins in the bright
cathedral vaults
for luxuries and banquets.
The few gifts tremble in the hands
of the old man... God grant that it reaches him
to kill the hunger of the day.