No one, really nobody
May grow in the desert
the inert body with buds of soul, but
no one, nobody really,
didn't smell his flowers and if
no one, nobody really,
did not see the tears
from the mother's eyes,
what is the point of glorifying
the flowers of paradise?
No one, nobody really,
don't answer when we ask
in a mother's prayer
let the truth come
from the lifeless body,
not even God?
The earth is barren
when flowers die
behind the children.
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