Les butterflies

Three companions, white.
In the green buttered field,
sunny, and tenderly shadowed.
Eys flies in come and go,
and blue flowers, tiny, print the eyes
with dots. The grails-of-milk, ashore,
seem a covenant os mothers.

The three companions, white.
Rejoice with the flowers little blue in the ground,
redrosed in the peachtree.

The little covenant of mothers,
they milk a life
that´s not the new.

The new is joy of play,
and sun.

Little covenant of mothers:
they knew a breast
of follies

Butterflies: they tell
their secrets, and laugh,
and the black brother come,
so little, and is,
poor boy,
their silly

Accalm.
They´re tired.
One, after a while,
goes to the mothers,
just to disturb.

They´re together, again.

and, perhaps,
it will be this way,
till the night.

The little brother, so black,
poor boy, now is playing, too.
"Be piety!", he says
"We are.", they laugh.

And they´re happy.