“ In the silent patio the setting sun bleeds its farewell The autumnal amber of the panorama takes on a cold tint of aching gray. At the gate of the house which time has clawed full of holes the calm silhouette of a gold-colored ox, appears silent and later passes to the nearby stable, yearning with his biblical puils, hearing the oration of the cowbells, for his virile years as a bull. At the wall of the garden, giving flight to the grief of his song, springs the gentle rooster, and, in alert sadness, like two teardrops, his eyes tremble in the dead evening. ”
