The shade of trees fades
and the illusion of mirages appears,
yet, I still love You.

In the sweet and enchanting bondage of our hearts
the distinction between trees and sand ceases to exist.

There is only one sky,
only one sun
and only one moon,
only one bugle,
and only one trumpet.

With the festive one,
my mind rushes forward,
with the rhythm of dance,
through gaps of pains and pleasures.

In the cold wind of winter,
the swans arrive from the northern sky.

In the touch of ice and in the golden sun,
I listen to my distant friend,
calling me with prolonged sound.