Surrounded by Galicia´s sounds of quiet
when least expected, an amazing kiss.
He set my senses to a whirling riot,
his arms asylum, bridging the abyss.
The sweetness of the eucalyptus trees
incensed the sky for our Galician June.
That night his Mom cooked rabbit soup with peas
and sausage pie that looked just like a prune.
My destiny became as clear as crystal:
this village guy I found behind a bar
with kisses shot like bullets from a pistol,
Galician bagpipes wafting from afar.
I had no doubts, I never paused nor brooded.
My bones will feed Galician soil
when my life´s concluded.
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