Sol 5.6

  1. And a blue pool, the color of the sky, awoke

    to the weaving touch of a wind that blows with dawn.

  2. A stream cleaves its very heart, charged

    with watering gardens robed in the finery of blossoms,

  3. just as in battle a valiant warrior stabs an armored foe

    with a keen sword, cleaving him from flank to flank.

  4. It shows you branching heads of its own upon a serpent’s body,

    gliding with living motion through its green gardens.

  5. No garden but has borrowed, to thank it,

    the tongue of an east breeze, stealing past, sweet with fragrance.

Sol 5.6