The waves of intoxicated clouds,
Rifled with the gun powder,
At the labels of green dark stripes,
Where we sat like bloomed flowers.

The light from the far beyond,
Has stood on the sublime figure,
Where the lost place dipped in silence,
Has been warmed by my sweater.

Thy the alchemy of nature leaves,
With a rift of that muse hemp,
Has stood this night's track,
And the eyes smiled as an oil lamp.

The night's tale has rowed to my old memory,
The storm has had a swift end,
Through hard life, and surrenders,
I still miss those guilty cents.