We grew old side by side, my friend,
my companion of winding paths of thistles
and nettles,
guardian of white flocks and
of the solitary rose of my days,
we stood silent together, my friend,
my companion of maculate voice,
and now I’ll no longer be able to take you from this shore
to another,
where you would, tenderly, soothe my wounds.
I know I’ll soon bid you farewell.
I dread knowing how the hours of a house
will be,
forever empty, after you.