To José María Palacio

Palacio, my dear friend,
is spring already
covering the poplar branches
by the river and the roads? On the plain
of the upper Douro, spring comes late,
but it’s so soft and lovely when it arrives!

Do the old elms
have some new leaves?

Even though the acacias are still bare
and the mountain tops clad in snow.

Mount Moncayo up there, rosy and white,
so beautiful against the sky of Aragon!

Are brambles coming into flower
among the grey stones,
and white daisies
among the herbs?

Storks will already be landing
on those church steeples.

There will be green wheat
and brown mules in the sown fields,
and labourers sowing late crops
in the April rain. Bees are already
feeding on rosemary and thyme.

Are plum trees in blossom? Are there still violets?

For sure there will be poachers
with partridge decoys under their
long cloaks. Palacio, my dear friend,

are the riversides still full of nightingales?

When the first lilies
and the first roses are in the gardens,
on a blue evening, walk up to El Espino,
to El Espino up on high, where she lies in the earth…