The weakened root up thin,
Distrusts the gorgeous day,
Which drives from all the weariness,
It's rounded rhyme in rays,
It is too stuck in soil,
Too marred in the decay,
But so it comes a pilgrim,
To make a meager way.

Six strings become like friends,
Laughter resonant at the trembling edge,
Air scattered at their emptied lungs,
Silence is pricked upon their sharp ripostes.

Oceans dress the window panes,
Bunched up and thrown,
Unfurled to soak the windowsills,
And all the room,
Is steeped in sea and lapiz blue.