The weeping of the guitar <br />begins. <br />The goblets of dawn <br />are smashed. <br />The weeping of the guitar <br />begins. <br />Useless <br />to silence it. <br />Impossible <br />to silence it. <br />It weeps monotonously <br />as water weeps <br />as the wind weeps <br />over snowfields. <br />Impossible <br />to silence it. <br />It weeps for distant <br />things. <br />Hot southern sands <br />yearning for white camellias. <br />Weeps arrow without target <br />evening without morning <br />and the first dead bird <br />on the branch. <br />Oh, guitar! <br />Heart mortally wounded <br />by five swords.<br /><br />Federico García Lorca<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-guitar-3/
