Yet more evidence for the court that the world is more magical and mysterious than we think it is. Last night in a dream, I wrote a little poem. In Spanish! No Pulitzer Prize winner, but still. Writing a coherent poem in a dream? And in Spanish? Here it is:
Los años caen
como lágrimas
rodando
por
las mejillas
de tiempo.
¿De dónde vienen?
¿A dónde van?
Which translates to:
The years fall
like tears
trickling
down
the cheeks
of time.
Where do they come from?
Where do they go?
As the year draws to a close, I guess the passing of time is on my mind.
In Spanish.
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