First love at the Bee's lodge

At the Bees’ porch our initials posted on the walls with the color of burnt straw.
Our love grew here in the nearby stable.
And I see you rise tender shadow,
I measured your warm words searching your lips with your fingers.
Shadows of us who are on the run
they lengthen, they disappear
when the muleteer’s lamp
makes the beasts tremble for the fodder.

(1946)