The panes of the sun suddenly turn red
Like the cuts of the sky light withering
The moon flies on her way up there
The vision that keeps slowly disappearing
The sky can only give way to the one
Furnishing the rhythm of the setting sun
Vanishes like the limping man on the streets
And disappears before I could call out your name
Two spaces in the wind through which
The light survives to spread vision
It happens seldom all of a sudden
With the moon and the sun negotiating
Only one of them can last the twilight
With the sun losing energy and room
Lends his role for the moon to play
But alas the limping man and the sparrows
The sun has taken them away!
