One late Reclineed to the foot of the figueira I lean myself on my souvenirs. The afternoon only slides softly for the slope of the hours. Ace waters of the lake, made of the river, tremulam as if they had with cold. Seeing and the sun plays of wheel when playing with leves of the tree. Late of field, late of pure fancy. I think exactly about me and in what I made I feel myself awarded by the paternity. I obtained to transmit more than what simple chromosomes I see translucent crepitar of the consequence of the sun in waters As well as I see my consequence in mine other souls. The small mirror that photographs part of my reason Reflects it in the ways and shades my hopes That my fruit when growing ties to the land my principles and my promises of life To be! Nothing it would be if it did not have the certainty of tomorrow of the incontidas reasons the Souls write the future in notebooks that breathe Breathe phrases, knowledge and reasons. In the principle it was the verb. In passing of the years, the attitudes. In the end, candies souvenirs. The sun if puts! The calm waters still dance musics flautadas for Bacos unknown. Mine body if joins to the trunk of the figueira and I changed myself into the landscape. I am leaf, I am trunk, I am caule. I am tree. My fruits already are trunks of trees that will win on storms. I am father. I was strong. I am father of forts. To the winds exclamo, that if today I am weak had been my fruits exauriram that me. They had absorbed my cantos of happiness. They had stolen my smiles in my memories. They had taken off of the cantos my eyes of tears. They had taken off my years, had given a life to Me.