Pit Stop — Image by kenne
Through the branches
hesitant,
went a maiden
who was life.
Through the branches
hesitant,
she caught the day’s reflection
in a little mirror:
the glow of her limpid brow.
Through the branches
hesitant.
Over the shadows
she went astray,
weeping dewdrops,
the captive of time.
Through the branches
hesitant.
— “Captive” by Federico Garcia Lorca
