La capilla blanca

In the white chapel
of a provincial town,
very close to a crystal stream,
I was kneeling to pray
your hands...
Your hands that lit up
my childish heart.
And at the foot of a Holy Christ
the waters of affection
you gave me to drink.

Happy the moon saw us
down the mountain,
following the stars,
drinking among your goats,
an amphora of love...
And today they are dark birds
those shy bells
that toll in the distance
the touch of prayer.
Your voice died in the river
and in the white chapel,
there remained an empty place
Empty as the soul
of the two of us...!

In the white chapel
In the white chapel of a provincial town,
close by a crystal brooklet,
I feel your lips
your lips...
And when with its elves
the night wakes up
at the foot of Santo Cristo,
there will be a dead rose,
that prays for both of us!