Ballad of the Moon
The moon came into the fe
in her bustle of fl nard.
The little boy stares at her, stares.
The boy is staring hard.
In the shaken air
the moon moves her amrs,
and shows lubricious and pure,
her breasts of hard tin.
"Moon, moon, moon, run!
If the gypsies e,
they will use your heart
to make white necklaces and rings."
"Let me dance, my little one.
When the gypsies e,
theyll find you on the anvil
with your lively eyes closed tight.
"Moon, moon, moon, run!
I feelheir horses e."
"Let me be, my little one,
dont step on me, all starched and white!"
Closer es the the horseman,
drumming on the plain.
The boy is in the fe;
his eyes are closed.
Through the olive grove
e the gypsies, dream and bronze,
their heads held high,
their hooded eyes.
Oh, how the night owl calls,
calling, calling from its tree!
The moon is climbing through the sky
with the child by the hand.
They are g in the fe,
all the gypsies, shouting, g.
The air is veiwing all, views all.
The air is at the viewing.
Federico García Lorca