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Federico Garcia Lorca - Ballad of the Moon, Moon
Work rating: Medium

	    The moon came to the forge
	wearing a bustle of Spikenards.
	The boy is looking at her.
	The boy is looking hard.
	In the troubled air,
	the wind moves her arms,
	showing lewd and pure,
	her hard, tin breasts.
	"Run, moon, moon, moon.
	If the gypsies came,
	they would make of your heart
	necklaces and white rings."
	"Child, let me dance.
	When the gypsies come,
	they will find you on the anvil
	with your little eyes shut tight."
	"Run, moon moon moon.
	I can hear their horses.
	Child, let me be, don`t walk
	on my starchy white."

	    The rider was drawing closer
	playing the drum of the plain.
	In the forge the child
	has his eyes shut tight.
	Bronze and dream, the gypsies
	cross the olive grove.
	Their heads held high,
	their eyes half open.

	    Ay how the nightjar sings!
	How it sings in the tree!
	The moon goes through the sky
	with a child in her hand.

	    In the forge the gypsies
	wept and cried aloud.
	The air is watching, watching.
	The air watched all night long.
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