AnDaLuCiA

Yesterday I had a dream, I didn't want to wake up
I saw myself in any courtyard,
with balconies with whitewash and broken stairs
with railings covered in vines,
wooden gates and a smell of dampness,
an old woman sitting in a rocking chair,
barely rocking a table,
a small chair, a few years of war and joy,
an orange tree in the center
and the feeling of Andalusia, Andalusia.
Land of great poets
but let's see who argues with me
that being Andalusian has never written a verse,
who hasn't been soaked in salt
if among mountains, fields, and seas we have plenty to give.
In a lonely park with the moon as a witness
two lovers dream,
swallows nesting on the roof
a fountain where the mud fills up,
horse, guitar, wine, and cart
the feeling of Andalusia, Andalusia.
Come with me to live
I have a hut by a river full of roses and jasmine