Naranjo en flor

She was softer than water,
than soft water,
she was fresher than the river,
orange blossom.
And on that summer street,
lost street,
she left a piece of life
and she left...

First you must know how to suffer,
then love, then leave
and finally walk without thought...
Perfume of orange blossom,
empty promises of a love
that escaped with the wind.
Then... what does the future matter?
All my life is yesterday
that holds me in the past,
eternal and old youth
that has left me cowed
like a bird without light.

What have my hands done to her?
What have they done
to leave so much pain in my chest?
Pain of an old grove,
corner song
with a piece of life,
orange blossom.