There is gray hairs in my head; there is frost in the meadows; 
But I continue dreaming, poor, incurable sleepwalker, 
With the eternal spring of life fading away 
And the perennial freshness of the fields and souls.
- Rosalía de Castro-

Excerpt from the poem "They say that plants do not speak, nor fountains, nor birds"


2 thoughts on “Frost

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