Magellaniguin
her nor child nor black
nor white but verticle
and a questioning innoce
dressed in night and snow:
The mother smiles at the sailor,
the fisherman at the astronaunt,
but the child child does not smile
when he looks at the bird child,
and from the disorderly o
the immaculate passenger
emerges in snowy m.
I was without doubt the child bird
there in the cold archipelagoes
when it looked at me with its eyes,
with its a o eyes:
it had her arms nor wings
but hard little oars
on its sides:
it was as old as the salt;
the age of moving water,
and it looked at me from its age:
sihen I know I do ;
I am a worm in the sand.
the reasons for my respect
remained in the sand:
the religious bird
did not o fly,
did not o sing,
and through its form was visible
its wild soul bled salt:
as if a vein from the bitter sea
had been broken.
Penguin, static traveler,
deliberate priest of the cold,
I salute your vertical salt
and envy your plumed pride.
Pablo Neruda
(ò﹏ò)
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谢谢!!!