SONNET XLVIII: Pablo Neruda
Two happy lovers make one bread,a single moon drop in the grass.Walking, they cast two shadows that flow together;waking, they leave one sun empty in their bed.Of all the possible truths, they chose the day;they held it, not with ropes but with an aroma.They did not shred the peace; they did not shatter words;their happiness is a transparent tower.The air and wine accompany the lovers.The night delights them with its joyous petals.They have a right to all the carnations.Two happy lovers, without an ending, with no death,they are born, they die, many times while they live:they have the eternal life of the Natural.
Two happy lovers make one bread,a single moon drop in the grass.Walking, they cast two shadows that flow together;waking, they leave one sun empty in their bed.Of all the possible truths, they chose the day;they held it, not with ropes but with an aroma.They did not shred the peace; they did not shatter words;their happiness is a transparent tower.The air and wine accompany the lovers.The night delights them with its joyous petals.They have a right to all the carnations.Two happy lovers, without an ending, with no death,they are born, they die, many times while they live:they have the eternal life of the Natural.
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