That was the end <br />of the eleventh month, <br />wild geese <br />going south. <br /> <br />You looked up <br />to the sky <br />and said: <br />If I had wings, <br />I would explore <br />new territories, <br />too. <br /> <br />I would settle <br />on a beach. <br />Perhaps, <br />I could forget <br />these city walls, <br />these people. <br /> <br />I just asked you <br />one question: <br />Why are we <br />so unhappy? <br /> <br />If she had died <br />one month later, <br />she would have seen <br />snow <br />in our garden. <br /> <br />We kept talking <br />When the dark angels <br />Who took her, <br />took away <br />the sunshine. <br /> <br />That was <br />the end of it <br />Wild geese <br />going south. <br /> <br />Bernardo Atxaga<br /><br />Luis Gil de la Puente<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/2-november/
