sexta-feira, 10 de março de 2017


Lord, make me accept
My poverty as it always was.

I do not feel what I have not.
I do not regret what could have
And got lost in wrong ways
And never came again.

Give, Lord, that my humility
Either as the desired rainfall
Falling down,
Long dark night
In a thirsty land
And on an old roof.

May I thank you,
My narrow bed,
My poor little things,
My house on the floor,
Stones and reeded boards.
And always have a beam of firewood
Under my mud stove,
And light, myself,
The cheerful fire of my house.
On the morning of a new day that begins. "

Cora Coralina