Alma Novaes

 

Roots of my moon

(to Mother Eve and her lost childhood)

Walking caressed,

Lost in memories,

In some nameless alley

The senses flow to childhood

-I beg...

I live absent in the past.

The white lamb was mine

So warm and friendly, he ran

Out in the field, he couldn't even hear me

I could see and hear him, for

Around his neck he wore

Two red bells

Put on by my father.

- It's very easy to lose

The lamb of the flock!

He told me...

Don Cordeiro little or nothing

He cared

I think I would like it

Of musical bells.

I was lounging in the cork oak

The punches and the lunch box next to it

He would pull out the flute and play

The sounds that God asked of me...

Méé... Méé

This was the precise language there,

At the end of the world - mine

By the end of the afternoon, 

already exhausted, I listened

The father call me from the olive groves:

- Evita, it's late, daughter,

Wake up, look at the flock.

And Eve, small, would sneak in

Just like the goat with

Hurry to give birth...

While gathering friends

Don Cordeiro,

-Méé méé

He held the flute,

Helping to drive

That crazy orchestra,

Accreditation of conductors.