Platero is small, furry, soft, so soft on the outside, which would all cotton, which has no bones. Only jet mirrors their eyes are hard like two black glass scarabs. I let loose, and goes into the meadow, and warmly caressing his nose, just rubbing them, the flowers pink, blue and yellow ... I call softly, "silversmith? 'and he comes to me with a cheerful trot seem to laugh, not to know what jingle
ideal ... Come as you give. He likes mandarin oranges, muscat grapes, all amber, purple figs, with its crystal drop of honey ...
is cute and cuddly like a child, a girl ... but strong and dry as stone. When you step on it, on Sundays, for the last streets in the town, country men, dressed in clean and slowly, stared at it has steel. Steel and silver moon, at the same time.
0 comments:
Post a Comment