I thought the sugarcane field was not friendly
to luxury. It had no fruit more
luscious to melt upon the lips
and fill the mouth with sweetness.
But nature gave me her
silent answer.
Caracadenas nodding on
their long stems, hung
over my face.
It was an invitation to taste
and enjoy their goodness.
The berries were round
and yellow ones of the meadow.
Each as it touched my lips
was a drop of nectar
and a crumb of ambrosia,
a concentrated essence of all
the pungent sweetness of the field,
palatable, penetrating, delicious.
I tasted the odour of hundred
blossoms and the green shimmering
of the innumerable leaves
and the sparkle of the sifted
sunbeams and the breath of breezes
and the song of many birds, all in a caracadena.
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