And, sometimes it seems
that: because a man, being born in a tear
when his mother wept,
never takes off his sweat
or really finds a friend,
already in the cradle
makes his little fist.

But what a brave thing
he is, who has a fountain
at his hips, a brain:
that blossom on the spine!

And, when I look at the earth
and the earth is someone
I love, then it seems:
what a pity man
becomes a melancholy
beast that likes to think.

1960