Aragon

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Be gentle to me Aragon!

When I walk under your Castellano blue,

Breaking up your dusty clods of red earth,

Gazing down from winding roads in the heights,

To yellow plains accented in green,

Across to plateaus

Silhoutted by the now descending sun,

When I laugh and sit at your heavy tables,

With people I barely know yet call friends,

While still feeling the power of your wine,

I can no longer call myself in this place or that,

But have escaped somewhere into the night's strange city,

Have risen up and out over your desolate hills,

Have care, I ask, calm Aragon!

Let your people dance in cobbled streets,

Let them smile while their very homes tumble down.

Bring your sun, melting orange,

A final touch of your artist's brush,

Scatter its final rays over darkening hills,

Until I succumb to mental slumber

And rest awhile from all I know.

Be gentle to me, Aragon!

For this brief time I will not remember,

When eternity has just begun,

Have care in what you say to me;

Come close to make all else seem less far away.