My brain is a bit glazed over, I think. Thinking about the imminent arrival of spring has induced a touch of spring fever, and I don't feel like doing anything at all. I'm picturing myself lazing in a lawn chair in the sunlight with a cold drink in my hand. I should probably go outside and shiver a bit, just to remind myself of when I am. Then I can have some hot cocoa and go to sleep. It's February, brain! Pay attention!
by Pablo Neruda
They will continue wandering,
these things of steel among the stars,
and weary men will still go up
to brutalize the placid moon.
There, they will found their pharmacies.
In this time of the swollen grape,
the wine begins to come to life
between the sea and the mountain ranges.
In Chile now, cherries are dancing,
the dark mysterious girls are singing,
and in guitars, water is shining.
The sun is touching every door
and making wonder of the wheat.
The first wine is pink in colour,
is sweet with the sweetness of a child,
the second wine is able-bodied,
strong like the voice of a sailor,
the third wine is a topaz, is
a poppy and fire in one.
My house has both the sea and the earth,
my woman has great eyes
the colour of wild hazelnut,
when night comes down, the sea
puts on a dress of white and green,
and later the moon in the spindrift foam
dreams like a sea-green girl.
I have no wish to change my planet.