Montes abancalados. Huertas en la tierra oscura bien labrada. Gente pausada y tácita, con el infinito dentro de su silencio.
La viña. El naranjal. El olivar.
Olivos no en tresbolillo, sino en hilera.

Montes abancalados. Huertas en la tierra oscura bien labrada. Gente pausada y tácita, con el infinito dentro de su silencio.
La viña. El naranjal. El olivar.
Olivos no en tresbolillo, sino en hilera.

Posted by CARMINA Blog Literario at 6:01 am on agosto 8th, 2009. No comments... »
Categories: Lauro Gandul Verdún, Portugal, Prosa.
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