Without Doubt I Praise The Wild Excellence.

Donde Termina El Arco Iris, En Tu Alma O En El Horizonte? Where Does The Rainbow End, In Your Soul Or On The Horizon?

The Morning Is Full Of Storm In The Heart Of Summer. The Clouds Travel Like White Handkerchiefs Of Goodbye, The Wind, Travelling, Waving Them In Its Hands. The Numberless Heart Of The Wind Beating Above Our Loving Silence. Orchestral And Divine, Resounding Among The Trees Like A Language Full Of Wars And Songs.

What Can I Say Without Touching The Earth With My Hands?

Cómo Se Acuerda Con Los Pájaros La Traducción De Sus Idiomas?

There's A Country Spread Out In The Sky, A Credulous Carpet Of Rainbows And Crepuscular Plants: I Move Toward It Just A Bit Haggardly, Trampling A Gravedigger's Rubble Still Moist From The Spade To Dream In A Bedlam Of Vegetables.