Federico Garcia Lorca Quote
The round silence of night,one note on the staveof the infinite.Ripe with lost poems,I step naked into the street.The blackness riddledby the singing of crickets:sound,that deadwill-o'-the-wisp,that musical lightperceivedby the spirit.A thousand butterfly skeletonssleep within my walls.A wild crowd of young breezesover the river.
Federico Garcia Lorca
The round silence of night,one note on the staveof the infinite.Ripe with lost poems,I step naked into the street.The blackness riddledby the singing of crickets:sound,that deadwill-o'-the-wisp,that musical lightperceivedby the spirit.A thousand butterfly skeletonssleep within my walls.A wild crowd of young breezesover the river.