And this
game, Archpriest,
this game
with a white ball
and a black
ball,
when will
it finish?
This game
of noise
and silence,
of laughter
and crying,
of light
and the night…
And there
is one that asks: what is the night?
And this
loose tear, Archpriest,
this loose
tear that trickles and slips,
that dances
and dithers
in the windmill
where will
it stop?
And there
is another that asks: but, gentlemen…
Why does it
play here?
From El ciervo (The Stag) 1958
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