Balada de Otoño

It rains, behind the windows, it rains and rains on the half-leafless poplars, on the brown rooftops, on the fields, it rains. They painted the sky gray and the ground wrapped itself in leaves, dressing in autumn. The afternoon that falls asleep seems like a child rocked by the wind with its autumn ballad. A ballad in autumn, a sad song of melancholy, born as the day dies. A ballad in autumn, sometimes like a whisper, and sometimes like a lament, and sometimes like the wind. It rains, behind the windows, it rains and rains on the half-leafless poplars, on the brown rooftops, on the fields, it rains. I could tell you that my last log is burning in the fireplace, that I am very poor today, that for a smile I give all that I am, because I am alone and afraid. If you were able to see the sad eyes of a lamp and talk to that porcelain I discovered yesterday, which for a moment became a woman. Then, forgetting my tomorrow and your past, you would return to my side. The evening fades away, leaving me the complaint that tomorrow will be old in an autumn ballad. It rains, behind the windows, it rains and rains on the half-leafless poplars...