Saturday, 12 May 2012


The horses tinkling bells are silenced,
Not an echo left of crazed ole´,
There is but a shadow left Señor,
Of your sombrero at dance & play,
Stop the flowing vino, not one drop more.
Paloma milk, her head beneath wing of silk,
Sighs at the moon, drinks in the peace.
No more clapping, stamping, no flamenco castanets.
Dry your pearl tear Señorita, the fiesta had to cease,
Bid adios to him, that laughingly has your passion whet.
 The arena, sand & blood mingle forming one,
 On the breath of the dying breeze, I hear the bull´s cries.
 Over for him, the pain & sorrow of not understanding why.
For your fiesta, your joy Señora, the bull kneels & dies.
At this time, even the beast has brine within his eye.
The feria is over for another year, gone with the mist.
The blood carnation flung, crying in dejected pain.
Silence rules the village, the sky nods, the sea sleeps.
Slumbering, till the fiesta lifts her skirt of frills again,
When the bull shall cry & the fatted lamb sadly bleats.

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