For my heart just your chest,
enough for your freedom my wings.
From my mouth will come to heaven
I was sleeping above your soul.
It is you the illusion of each day.
You're like dew to the corolla.
You undermine the horizon with your absence.
Eternally on the run like a wave.
I have said that you sang in the wind
like the pines and like the masts.
Like them you are tall and taciturn.
And you suddenly get sad like a journey.
Welcoming as an old road.
You're full of echoes and nostalgic voices.
I woke up and sometimes migrate and flee
birds sleeping in your soul.
Author of the poem: Pablo Neruda