Spilled Blood – Federico Garcia Lorca
Spilled Blood.
I will not see it!
The moon wide-open.
A horse of quiet clouds
And dream’s grey bull-ring
edged all round with willows.
I will not see it!
Remembrance burns.
Recall the jasmine
with their little whiteness!
I will not see it!
The cow of the ancient world
passed her sad tongue
over a snout of blood
spilled on sand,
and the bulls of Guisando,
death almost, stone almost,
bellowed like two centuries
tired of treading earth.
No.
I will not see it!
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