spanish poem

some of the hurts you have cured
babylon-where i go dreaming
often is it not so?
it was the autumn of the year
over the river they beckon to me
the light withdrawn
a life on the ocean wave
while i stood listening, discreetly dumb
all within and all without me
why then, must we see?
often i think of the beautiful town
along the banks
over the river, on the hill
thou unrelenting past