Daughters of Time, the hypocritic Days,
Muffled and dumb like barefoot dervishes,
And marching single in an endless file,
Bring diadems and faggots in their hands.
To each they offer gifts after his will,
Bread, kingdoms, stars, and sky that holds them all.
I, in my pleached garden, watched the pomp,
Forgot my morning wishes, hastily
Took a few herbs and apples, and the Day
Turned and departed silent. I, too late,
Under her solemn fillet saw the scorpion.
Days
The daughter of the old man in time, on a hypocritical day,
was dumb as a barefoot monk,
they were arranged in a single line, with no beginning or end.
Hold a crown and a scepter in your hand,
Give gifts to everyone according to their wishes,
Bread, kingdom and the sky full of stars.
I saw this spectacular scene in the garden with tangled branches.
I forgot my wish in the morning,
I picked some herbs and apples in a hurry, and time turned around
and left silently. Under her black hair band
I can see her contempt, it's too late.