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Prado is its name


a village without fame


save for its Roman bridge.



They said I was the first foreigner


to pass it over


in almost two thousand years.



A loira - the blond - she was


I mention her because


I fell for her


the village beauty


as fair as fair could be


but with a tragic history.



Five years before, on one weekend


as was the custom then


the blond travelled with her namorado, her boyfriend


to a party at a neighbouring place


where she could showcase


her beauty and her dance.



That night


there was a fight


between two men claiming her heart


the boy-friend would depart


not to be seen again


until his body was found floating


down the river running


under the Prado bridge.



I sometimes reflect upon the inequity  


imposed on this young lady coping with the destiny


of one who had loved


at fifteen without a ring or a document


in a village where an adolescent


was not expected to make precedent.



I wanted to wipe the tears from her eyes


I wanted to bring back her smiles


alas there was nothing I could do


she could never love again


after this had happened - way back then.

Click to read in Spanish

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