You sing, and your voice peels the husk

Of the day’s grain, your song with the sun and sky

The pine trees speak with their green tongue

All the birds of the winter whistle.

The sea fills its cellar with footfalls

with bells, chains, whimpers

The tools and the metals jangle

Wheels of the caravan creak.

But I hear only your voice, your voice

Soars with the zing and precision of an arrow

It drops with the gravity of rain.

Your voice scatters the tightest swords

And returns with its cargo of violets

It accompanies me through the sky.

- Pablo Nerudo