In Orangfield the trees are big and breathless
Looking down toward the deep landscapes
Below the brushes and horses wastes,
Between the barricade filled with the chickens
And barefoot children; a road to right,
The house of the Old Solomon
From El Paso. He's tall and gray,
With roaring eyes and tolling hair and long
Fingernails as well as with compelled
Smile, who is now living in Orangefield,
Trying to make his last masterpiece.
It may sound silly
To write about this sick old Solomon
From Orangefield, El Paso, Texas, glancing down, walking
Slow, scenes he carries over
His shoulders, a sunset hail, they said.
When in winter or in spring back into himself,
The pledge thoughts that soon or later,
The black smile will take him,
Right there, in the Orangefield, the man
Who came from El Paso and he was
Anxious to write his last masterpiece,
Even the foretell swallow him to death.
Short days before he wrote "By the Valley"
On a breathed line: "I got
Below it, the blue dream." He felt good,
He shall not fail that from above
With small eyes and poppies tip,
The scented voice was coming and coming
Out of the head, from this man who
Came from El Paso who will die here
In the Orangefield, whose last wishes
Were to write his rendezvous masterpiece.